DJ: Life & Death
by DJ Shifty
Summary: You asked for it. The Life and Death of Desmond Jazed. Focuses on my OC, DJ. Rated T for swearing, violence, gore, etc. Chapter 6, Sick Like Me, now up. *gore warning*
1. There's No Place Like Home

This was also one of the highest-voted choices in my poll, so here it is. A multi-chap fic, all about DJ. I suppose you could call it a redo of _DJ: Origins_, since it's pretty much his life story.

Nonetheless, for the six people who voted for this, here's the first chapter of _DJ: Life & Death_. Normal time in normal font, anything else in italics, etc.

_

* * *

_

September 22, 1991

_A lone car sped down the deserted road on the outskirts of Manchester, England, going slightly over the speed limit, but not really caring. The car, a vintage 1978 Holden explorer, was being driven by a large yellow lion, a former army sergeant and current chief of police in Manchester. This lion's name was Leslie Jazed, Lyle to his friends. Beside Lyle, his heavily pregnant wife of ten years, Mary, a grayish panther, sighed as she looked out her window._

"_What's wrong, honey?" Lyle said, noticing her troubled expression._

"_I don't know what we should call him." She answered, motioning to her ballooned belly._

"_We could name him after me." Lyle remarked, grinning like a Cheshire cat._

"_What, 'Leslie?' I don't think so." Mary chuckled, knowing full well that her husband hated his birth name. Leslie Jazed responded with a snarl and diverted his attention ahead, where if he could squint he could just make out the outline of a logging truck parked on the side of the road._

"_I still don't get why you want another one. Isn't Ezekiel enough for you?" Lyle said, referring to their oldest son, Ezekiel 'Zeke' Jazed. Zeke wasn't actually their son, for he had been adopted when Leslie was experiencing… Problems… In the sexual department. At the moment, Zeke was spending some time at a friend's place for the weekend, as he often did on weekends._

"_No, I love Zeke, but I also want a son who-" Mary suddenly stopped mid sentence, and placed a hand on her belly. "I can feel him kicking!" She exclaimed excitedly. Amid protests from her husband, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her belly, and Lyle's protests faded into silence._

_It was a truly beautiful moment. Lyle looked away from to road at his wife, and the two locked eyes in a way that only true lovers do. Mary's grip on Lyle's hand tightened, and Lyle leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek._

_It was the last beautiful moment the two would ever have._

_Mary glanced at the road in front of them, and her look of love quickly turned into one of horror. "Lyle, the truck!" She shouted, and Lyle snapped his attention forward in time to see the large logging truck looming above them, literally meters from impact._

_Lyle indistinctly braked and twisted the wheel left… Inadvertedly putting Mary's side of the car in the danger zone. Mary's scream was drowned out by a clash of metal grinding against metal, and just as Lyle blacked out he saw that Mary's side had disappeared in an explosion of screeching metal and bloodied screams._

…

…

…

_Lyle blinked his eyes several times as he regained consciousness. As his eyes adjusted he saw he was being dragged from what was left of his car, presumably by the driver of the logging truck. He felt the asphalt subside to soft grass, and the hands dragging him gently set him down._

"_You okay?" A voice said, and it took Lyle a few seconds to register that it was the voice of the truckie speaking, a youngish looking tan bear dressed in stereotypical truckie overalls. The bear's nametag was too ruffled for Lyle to make out a name, but Lyle's concern at the moment wasn't the name of the truckie, it was about his wife._

"_Is she … okay?" Lyle managed to spit out, and a look of confusion crossed the face of the truckie._

"_Who? Is who okay?"_

"_My wife… She was in the front seat."_

"_Er… Wait here, I'll go check. Sit tight, man. An ambulance is on its way." And the truckie scurried off, leaving Lyle lying alone in the grass._

"_Wait here? Yeah, right." Lyle muttered to himself, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, catching sight of the crash for the first time._

_The car was absolutely fucking DESTROYED. The entire left side of the car, ripped away and was now in millions of pieces across the road. The right side, back end crushed, front end relatively okay. The engine, or what remained of it, was on fire, and as a coup de grace the radio was still going._

_Lyle pushed himself to his feet, feeling the numbness in his right arm and the massive headache. Apart from that he was okay. Maybe a little light on his knees, but okay overall. He staggered forward a few steps, and began shouting._

"_Mary! MARY?" He yelled, to almost no response._

"_Over here, man!" The truckie shouted, from the other side of the truck. Lyle stumbled around the wreck that was once his car, and nearly fainted when he caught sight of Mary's body._

"_Mary, it'll be okay, you'll be all right…" He said, kneeling down next to what was left of his wife. Though he could plainly see that she would not be all right. Mary's face was a bloody mess, one eye missing, the other nearly swollen shut due to the blood. Her right arm was almost snapped off, hanging gruesomely by a small patch of muscles. Both legs were covered in blood, her blue dress she was wearing that day ruined. Her ribcage seemed to cave in on itself, and by the angle of her neck and her non responsiveness when he touched her hand, Lyle guessed that her neck was broken._

_As the sirens of the ambulance grew steadily louder, Mary started whispering. "Lyle."_

"_Save your strength, honey, you'll be okay…" Whether he was trying to reassure her or reassure himself, he wasn't sure._

"_Lyle." She whispered again, just barely loud enough to be heard above the sirens. Lyle leant closer to his wife of ten years until his ear was right next to her mouth. Mary whispered something unintelligible, then her body slackened. She had lost consciousness._

"_Mary. Oh, Mary no…" Leslie 'Lyle' Jazed put his head in his hands as paramedics took over, gently hoisting Mary's motionless body onto a gurney and wheeling it into the back of one of the ambulances. He was still muttering her name when they escorted him into another ambulance and he blacked out, her name still whispering on the edge of his lips._

_..._

…_._

…_._

"_Are you Leslie Jazed?" A doctor at the hospital asked. Lyle, now with a arm cast and a bandage around his head, nodded ever so slightly._

"_Is she okay?" He asked, his voice cracking due to his panic._

"_Mr. Jazed, we did all we could, but your wife suffered tremendous internal and external injuries, and we were unable to revive her. She was declared dead five minutes ago." The doctor paused. "However, we were able to save your son."_

"_My… My son?"_

"_Yes. Frankly, I'm not sure how he survived, when by all medical factors he should be dead. Your wife's body was crushed between her seat and a logging truck. How your boy survived is a miracle. I'd take good care of him, Mr. Jazed. He's a special one. Nurse Gray?" The doctor turned and motioned for a nearby nurse, carrying a cot in the crook of her arm, to come over. Nurse Gray presented the doctor with the cot, and Lyle peered inside._

"_Say hello to your son, Mr. Jazed."_

_Sound asleep in the cot, a small grey-white kitten dozed away, sucking on the tip of its tail. It was amazing how much he looked like his father, and at the same time how little he looked like him._

"_Have you thought of a name for him?" Nurse Gray asked._

_Lyle took a long time answering. After a minutes deliberation, he repeated his wife's words as she died in his arms._

"_Desmond."_

* * *

A somewhat normal day in Happy Tree Town was blossoming. Animals all around the town, at various times, were waking up to a brand new day. Ah, see that? Mole's already killed two Genetic Tree Friends (unwittingly) and thus the day was starting out to be quite a normal one.

Already up and running, Flippy waved good-naturedly to several of his neighbors as he jogged past them on his morning run. Nearly all those waved back, save for Handy who could only mumble and grumble at his nubs. Even Handy's negative outlook couldn't take the smile off of Flippy's face. It was such a lovely day. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting, Splendid was watering his garden, either not hearing or plainly ignoring the cries for help, and altogether it was a day that made Flippy glad to be alive.

Of course, after dying once a week (average) and respawning at the local hospital, that took some of the charm out of it, but Flippy was still determined not to let that put a ruin on his day. Hell, even Evil had to agree that it was a lovely day, and this was coming from a psychopath.

All in all, it was a beautiful day. Was there anyone (apart from Handy) who could frown on a day like this?

Well, yeah.

Flippy slowed to a walk, partially because he was tired and partially because he was at the place he wanted to be at the moment. That particular place was outside a large mansion, right on the edge of the town boundaries. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and approached the front door of said mansion. Flippy ignored the camera focusing on him, and instead raised a hand to knock on the door.

Before he could, he paused at the sound of… Music.

Flippy turned his head in the direction of the music, which appeared to be coming from the forest on the right side of the mansion. And of course, everyone knows that the forest represents the boundaries of the town. Therefore, if you died in the forest, you'd die for real.

Flippy lowered his hand from the door, and slowly started in the direction of the voice. He paused right outside the forest, weighing in the options and potential outcomes. Finally, he shrugged and stepped into the forest.

The air surrounding him became instantly cooler, and Flippy became aware that his heart beat was rising. By now Flippy could hear the final lyrics to 30 Seconds to Mars's _The Kill_, and as he pushed several bushes out of the way he slowed to a halt, and crouched down in one of the remaining bushes as he observed what was going on.

A grayish white cat was sitting on the grassy ground, his legs dangling over a deep pit. The first thing you'd notice about this cat was his purple and black goggles perched above his eyes, keeping his fringe up. The second thing you'd notice about him was the fringe itself, which thanks in part to the goggles formed a messy Mohawk of sorts and had purple streaks dyed in it. The third thing? His satchel bag, often filled with books, novels, and his ever present notebook.

This cat, with his dark blue jean shorts and his purple and black sneakers, with his black fingerless gloves and his purple and black goggles, with a sarcastic nature and an untrustable manner, was simply known as DJ to both friends (of which there are few) and enemies (of which there are many). No-one called him Desmond, anymore. That was his past, which he was glad to hide.

DJ's back was to Flippy, so all Flippy could see was the outline of DJ raise a bottle of wine to his lips and take a long mouthful. Flippy then watched as DJ reached over and flicked his portable radio off.

"I know you're there." DJ spoke, his back still to Flippy.

_Damn._ Flippy begrudgingly got to his feet and pushed through the bushes. "How'd you know?"

"I could smell you. How long have you been running, Flippy? Thirty, Forty minutes?"

"More or less." Flippy approached the sitting DJ, who had not yet made a move, and sat down next to him, dangling his legs over the pit.

"Want some wine?" DJ offered the half-empty bottle of Wine to Flippy, who cautiously accepted it and took a swig.

"You do realize you're outside the boundaries? That if you die out here, you won't come back?" Flippy asked, remembering all those who left the 'cursed' town and was never heard from again.

"I know." DJ dryly answered in a depressed tone of voice. Flippy, however, failed to pick up the sadness in his friend's voice, and he took another swig of the wine.

"So what's the occasion?" Flippy cheerfully asked, indicating to the bottle of wine.

"It's my birthday." DJ said, his eyes looking into the pit. Flippy paused mid-swig, and lowered the bottle from his lips. "I don't know why I keep fooling myself into thinking that one of these days somebody's actually going to care." He remarked, still avoiding eye contact.

"... Um…"

"You can keep the wine." DJ stated, and got to his feet. He turned around and started walking back into HT Town, and Flippy quickly scrambled to his feet.

"DJ, wait up!" Flippy run after DJ, and grabbed him on the shoulder. "DJ-"

"Don't touch me." DJ snarled, and pushed Flippy's hand away. DJ left the bewildered Flippy in the forest, and re-entered HT Town.

_

* * *

_

September 22, 1995.

"_Happy Birthday, bro." Desmond, now four years old, looked up at the large black Jaguar sitting next to him in curiosity._

"_Here." Zeke said, smiling. "You better open it before dad gets back. You know how he is." Zeke wiggled a small wrapped box in front of him, and Desmond looked from the present to Zeke. "Go on." Zeke said encouragingly. Desmond cautiously took the wrapped gift in his tiny paws, and studied the bright blue wrapping paper on it. He then looked up at Zeke questioningly. _

"_Like this." Zeke said, and raised one paw. Desmond instinctively flinched, but Zeke wasn't aiming for him. With a simple flick of the wrist, Zeke had unsheathed his claws, and brought his index finger on the middle of the wrapped present. With careful precision, he tore open the paper, and the wrapping fell open, revealing a book._

"_You'll love it. When you learn to read, of course." Zeke added offhandedly as Desmond studied the front cover of the book. "It's called 'The Shining'," Zeke continued. "And it's by this Stephen King person…"_

_Before Zeke could elaborate on 'this Stephen King person' the door to their room burst open, surprising Zeke and scaring Desmond. The huge, yellow lion known as Lyle Jazed staggered in, a bottle of wine in hand and his eyes heavily bloodshot. The sight of his father scared Desmond more than anything, and he instinctively curled against his brother._

"_What's going on here?" He bellowed, the alcohol on his breath burning Zeke's nose. Zeke immediately put himself in front of his brother, but Lyle wasn't looking at neither Zeke nor Desmond. He was looking at the book, now lying on the floor. "What's this?" Lyle's view switched to Zeke, his eyes brimming with rage and hatred. "Are you giving him a present?" He shouted. Before Zeke could reply Lyle kicked the book away and shouted again. "HE DOESN'T DESERVE PRESENTS!"_

"_Dad, calm down, you're drunk-"_

"_HE KILLED MARY!" Lyle Jazed bellowed, and backhanded Zeke across the face. The force of the blow sent Zeke stumbling, and Lyle advanced on the terrified Desmond._

"_And as for YOU," Lyle spat as Desmond shivered in fear. "Happy Birthday, you runt!" And amidst Zeke's cry of 'DAD, NO!' Lyle swung to wine bottle at Desmond's face._

* * *

DJ punched in the code that unlocked his door and stormed into his large extravagant mansion, slamming the door behind him. The light 'tap' of the door re-locking itself behind him sounded, and DJ slumped on the couch in the living room, head in his hands.

Some fucking birthday. Was it really too much to ask that he had a Birthday where he was actually happy?

A thump caught his attention. DJ looked at the shelf above the fireplace, and his eyes travelled down to the ground in front of it, where a book had fallen off the shelf and was resting face down on the carpet. DJ slowly got to his feet and walked over to the book. He gingerly picked up the dog-eared copy of Stephen King's _The Shining_ and looked at it for what seemed like an eternity as memories he had tried deeply to suppress came flooding back. DJ fought back the memories, and he placed the book on its rightful position on the shelf with a sad sigh.

* * *

I'm a few days late, but whatever. DJ centric, whoo! I'm guessing not a lot of you will care for this particular story, but whatever (I seem to be saying that a lot) it's DJ's birthday, and I'm writing a story about him to cheer him up.

Review if you want to.

~ DJ.


	2. The Kill

Look up over there! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's an update!

* * *

A frantic knocking from the front door jarred DJ out of his thoughts. He raised his head out of his hands, momentarily wondering what was going wrong now.

"DJ? DJ, it's Flippy."

Figures.

"Open up, man. Can we talk?"

Of course we can talk. We've evolved so for that we can form words instead of mere grunting. That seems like talking, doesn't it?

"Please, DJ. Open up."

Alright, but only because you said 'please.' DJ pushed himself off the couch, stretched once, and made his way to the front door.

* * *

_24__th__ April, 1997._

"_Hey, Dezzie." Zeke smiled warmly as Desmond, now aged seven, walked out of the school gates into his waiting arms. "Bad day, huh?" He grinned, Desmond hugging him tighter than usual. "Alright, c'mon now. We've got to get home."_

_Seeming the look of anguish on his friend's face, Zeke sighed. "I'm sorry, bro. But we've got to get home."_

_Desmond's expression pleaded for another option, as the two crossed the road and began walking down the street. Dad was always ill-tempered, and since he started drinking the odds of a beating had increased double. Desmond was afraid of his father, truly afraid. Zeke knew this, and shook his head sadly._

"_I know, Des. I know. But we don't have anywhere else to go…" Zeke trailed off, his eyes blanking out as an idea reached his head. "On second thoughts… Maybe we do have somewhere else to go, even just for tonight."_

_Desmond stared at his companion quizzically._

"_Wanna go camping, Desmond?"_

* * *

DJ opened the door.

"I'm sorry, man! I didn't know, honestly. I mean, you barely talk about yourself, so how could I know? It's not like-"

"It's alright, Flippy." DJ interrupted, holding up a hand to silence the army vet. "It's not your fault. I was stupid enough to think something different would happen this year. A poor decision on my part, and it won't happen again."

"Look, DJ-"

"I'd like to be alone now, Flippy." DJ nodded, and began closing the door.

"Now, hang on, DJ." Flippy said, but DJ quickly slammed the door.

Onto Flippy's foot, instantly breaking it.

"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

* * *

_The stars twinkled in the sky, the glaringly white of the moon standing out against the deep black sky above. The burning embers of the campfire crackled, and one of the marshmallows above the fire burst into flames, then melted right off the stick._

"_Damnit, that's the fifth one!" Zeke exclaimed, retracting his marshmallow-stick and snuffing the small fire on the end of it out with one paw. Not to be deterred, he grabbed another marshmallow from the packet and stabbed it with his stick. "Sixth time's the charm!"_

_Desmond didn't feel the need to comment that this was actually the eight time, or ninth of you count his previous stick bursting into flames, so he remained silent as he watched his marshmallow slowly burn._

_By some stroke of luck, Zeke had managed to convince Dad that Desmond was staying over at a friend's place, despite the glaring obvious fact that Desmond had no friends. From then on in, it was just a matter of grabbing some basic camping gear (marshmallows, tent, marshmallows, etc.), and now the two were sitting beneath the night sky, roasting/burning marshmallows._

"_Ah,damnit! Not again!" Zeke cried, as his marshmallow once again burst into flames. He threw his stick into the fire in anger, and began pouting. "Stupid marshmallow. They're not even that good, they taste like pillows."_

_Desmond considered this, regarding Zeke with a curious glance. He then glanced at his marshmallow, roasted to perfection, and took a small bite._

_They don't taste like pillows at all… Pillows have a distinct, feathery taste._

_Desmond looked back at his older 'brother', and offered the marshmallow to him._

"_You sure, bro?"_

_Desmond nodded his head._

"_You're a good kid." Zeke smiled as he peeled the marshmallow off the stick and popped it in his mouth._

_Desmond smiled slightly, then leant back in the grass. Far, far above him, the stars winked brightly, almost assuring Desmond that things would turn out okay._

_Almost._

* * *

"I must say, Flippy, you've got a unique way of invading one's privacy."

Flippy simply moaned in pain as DJ not-so carefully propped Flippy's crushed foot onto of the coffee table. Flippy laid back on the couch, face masked in a mask of agony as DJ unceremoniously inspected his foot.

"Oh, sush. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Do you have any idea how heavy your door is?"

"Of course I do. It's made out of lightweight steel. It keeps the intruders away." DJ offhandedly replied, brushing some of the blood away from Flippy's foot to get a better look. "This may hurt a bit."

Before Flippy could ask what, a sharp, searing bolt of pain shot through his foot. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming, but his moans were still quite loud. DJ seemed to be oblivious to Flippy's groans of agony as he felt over Flippy's foot carefully, with the calm patience of an experienced doctor.

"Yeah, I lied. It kinda hurts a lot."

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Flippy screeched through gritted teeth as DJ felt a particularly nasty bruise.

"Of course I do, Flippy. I studied medicine in college, among other things. I'm checking to see if it's completely shattered or just a fracture."

Flippy's hands clenched the upholstery of the couch as DJ prodded another painful spot.

"Go easy on the couch, Flippy. I plan on using that thing for the next few years."

"I'll go easy on the couch if you go easy on my foot!"

"Relax, I'm done." DJ finished, easily putting Flippy's foot back on the coffee table. "Wow, you didn't pass out. You want a lollipop?"

"Fuck you!" Flippy screamed.

"Maybe later." DJ responded, totally deadpan.

Flippy blinked.

"You've got a hairline fracture." DJ declared professionally. "Nothing too serious. Under normal circumstances, it's probably take a month or so to heal completely. Round here, should be about three days. Less if you, you know, die."

"It still hurts…"

"Yeah, it'll do that. Wait here, I'll get some bandages."

* * *

Somewhere around midnight that night, Desmond awoke with a start.

_It was dark. Very, dark. The moon had disappeared, as had the stars, and totally darkness was everywhere. Desmond couldn't see a damned thing._

_Unnerved, Desmond groped around for his flashlight. It was a good flashlight, a bright one, one with stickers on it. But he couldn't find it. The darkness made him blind. The torch seemed to be gone._

_Desmond whimpered._

_It's not that he was afraid of the dark, per se, but more of what the dark hid. You couldn't see if there was anything hiding in the dark. Darkness consumed dreams and left nothing but nightmares in its wake._

_And you can't read in the dark. That was a slight obstacle too._

_Desmond whimpered again, slightly louder._

"_That you, Des?" Zeke whispered._

_Desmond nodded._

"_You know I can't see you right now in the dark."_

"_I'm scared." Desmond whispered, his voice quiet and timid._

"_Ah, come here you."_

_Desmond felt the familiar comfort of Zeke wrapping a warm arm around his shoulders, his fear fading just a bit._

"_Is it the dark?"_

_Desmond nodded again. "Yeah." He squeaked._

"_Trust me, Des. There is nothing in the dark that will hurt you as long as I'm around."_

_Zeke had such a wonderful way with words. "Promise, Zeke?" Desmond whispered._

"_I promise you, bro. I will never let anything bad happen to you again. I promise."_

_Desmond smiled, and closed his eyes. Snuggled up against his only friend, the only person he probably ever cared about, that feeling of fear gone, he purred once, and slowly returned to sleep._

_Neither of them knew that Zeke's promise would be broken in only a matter of months._

* * *

Flippy had somewhat calmed down as DJ wrapped the medical bandages around his broken foot. Sure, it still hurt, but the pain had lessened to a dull throb. As long as he kept weight off it, he'd be fine in a few days. Earlier if he died and reincarnated later on.

"You know what this reminds me of?" Flippy mused as DJ continued to wrap the bandages around his foot. "The first time we met. Remember that, DJ?"

"You stabbed me in the eye and stole my notebook." DJ bluntly replied. "I'm not going to forget the day I died."

Flippy shook his head, chuckling dryly.

"I got some crutches in the back." DJ said, finishing dressing the wound and getting to his feet. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

Flippy nodded as DJ exited the room, his footsteps fading away. Now alone in DJ's living room, Flippy glanced around the room. An expensive-looking big-screen TV… Bookshelf full of books – no surprise there - … And a large fireplace, just to Flippy's right. Upon the mantelpiece, where there would normally be family photos, there was no such kind. Indeed, the only thing on the mantelpiece was what looked like an old, ratted copy of Stephen King's The Shining. Flippy absent-mindedly grabbed the book and flicked through the pages.

A small piece of paper fell out.

Flippy looked at the photo quizzically, and put the book back on the mantelpiece. Picking it up and giving it a quick once over, he read the words written messily on the paper.

_Desmond._

_You are a good person. Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise._

_I will always love you. Always._

_- Zeke._

Musing, Flippy re-read the words on this paper twice, then flicked the paper over to see what was on the other side.

It was an old photo, taken back in happier times. Two cats, one clearly bigger and older than the other, at what looked like a standard park. The bigger cat was a jet-black jaguar, wearing simple hunting shorts and a hunting belt, one arm wrapped lovingly around the smaller cat. The smaller cat was more grayish in color, and instead of hunting garb was wearing some normal-looking jean-shorts.

Flippy recognized the smaller cat as DJ.

A 'THUMP' signaled DJ's return. Hurriedly, Flippy shoved the photo in his jacket pocket, just as DJ walked back in with a pair of crutches in his grip.

"They're a bit old, but they'll be fine." DJ assured Flippy, handing him the crutches.

"Yeah, thanks." Flippy said, grabbing the crutches and pushing himself up. "Thanks for, uh, fixing my foot."

"I couldn't have you limping around on my lawn now, could I?"

"No, I suppose you couldn't." Flippy nodded as he hopped to the front door.

"Oh, and Flippy?" DJ called out. Flippy froze, and slowly turned around.

"Yeah, DJ?"

"Could you, um, not tell anyone else that it was my birthday? I, er, don't particularly feel like having a party anymore."

"Oh, sure." Flippy nodded. "My lips are sealed." And he limped out the door into the afternoon sun.

DJ watched him go with sad eyes.

* * *

"_That was a good time, wasn't it?" Zeke offhandedly asked as he and Desmond walked home, Zeke carrying the camping supplies all jammed in the one backpack, not bothered in the slightest. "It was nice to get away from Dad, wasn't it?"_

_Des simply nodded, smiling outwardly at the memories of last night's camping trip, but inwardly dreading going back home. Hopefully, Dad would be passed out on the couch, too drunk and hung-over to even notice either of them. Realistically, he'd probably be drunk and hung-over, but not passed out. Just waiting. Waiting from him to come home._

_It was just past 5am, the sun just beginning to rise, when Zeke & Desmond turned a corner and immediately got a gun shoved in their face._

"_Gimmie all your money, and no-one gets hurt!" The mugger, a blue ferret who looked like a drug dealer, brandished the weapon in front of Zeke's face, eyes narrowed._

_Zeke duly noted the gun that was being unceremoniously shoved in his face was a silver Desert Eagle. He slowly, almost mockingly, raised his hands in the air in a surrender motion. "Alrighty, boss. Money's in my backpack. You wanna get it, or will I?" Zeke asked, grinning._

"_You get it." The mugger ordered, then aimed the gun in the direction of Desmond, who up until that moment had been stunned, too surprised to move. Now with a gun thrust in his face, Desmond took an unconscious step back, but the mugger quickly grabbed his arm in a cast-iron grip. "You make one wrong move, and I'll blow his brains out." He threatened, tightening his grip on Desmond's arm._

"_Alright, alright, no-body has to get hurt." Zeke said, the grin wiped off his face at the sight of his younger brother being held at gunpoint. "You're the boss." He added, as he slowly slipped the backpack off and laid it on the ground. Keeping eye contact with the mugger, Zeke slowly knelt down, his fingers brushing against one of the zippers._

"_Hurry it up!" The mugger exclaimed, the prospect of this heist working causing him to lose concentration for just one moment._

_One moment was all it took._

_Zeke took advantage of the mugger's distraction, and quickly dashed forward, leveling the mugger with a fist to the face with one hand, pushing the gun out of his grasp with the other. The mugger, now nursing a cut lip, retaliated with a stunning backhand that would no doubt sting in the morning, followed up with a sharp jab to Zeke's kidneys, and a sick knee to the gut. Zeke stumbled backwards, against the wall of a brick building, and the mugger quickly wrapped his dirty, clawed hands around Zeke's throat, even lifting his off the ground as he choked him._

"_You smartass son of a bitch!" The mugger shouted, as Zeke tried in vain to break the hold on his throat. Zeke's lungs were burning for air now, and all he could do was struggle vainly as his vision began to get all blurry. With his blurry gaze, he saw movement behind the mugger, and raised his eyebrows._

"_What? What are you looking at?" The mugged questioned, then turned his head-_

_**BANG!**_

_-Just in time for the back of his skull to explode, showering Zeke with bits of blood and brain matter. The mugger collapsed, now with only half a head, and Zeke slid down to the ground, gasping in the air as Desmond stood above him, the Desert Eagle in his hands still smoking._

_While Zeke and the mugger were struggling, the gun had landed on the ground next to Desmond. He had quickly snatched up the gun, quickly deciding whether to use it or not. It was simple, wasn't it? Point at the target, pull the trigger, target goes down, right?_

_Evidently not. When Desmond pulled the trigger the recoil was almost enough to throw him off his feet, the sound of the bullet being fired louder than what it was in the movies, and Desmond was aiming at the mugger's back when he fired._

_Instead the round smashed into the mugger's head, and on the contrary to what most movies showed, it didn't make a perfectly neat hole. No. It blew half the mugger's head to pieces. Oh, and fun fact: Not all headshots are instantly fatal, as also said in movies. The mugger was still alive, his body jerking, lying facedown on the ground as red blood and grey brain matter oozed out of his skull._

_Desmond stood stunned, eyes wide as the full fact of what he'd just done slowly sunk in. The Desert Eagle was still in his grasp, pointing at the spot where the mugger was alive only moments ago. Zeke, half-covered in blood, looked from the mugger's shuddering body, then to his brother, then shockingly grinned._

"_Nice shot, bro." He said, shakily getting to his feet. "Now let's move it, before someone calls the cops." He grabbed the camping bag with one hand, and grabbed Desmond with the other. The contact broke Desmond's paralysis, and he allowed himself to be led away from the scene as he and Zeke broke into a run._

_Desmond glanced behind him, back at the body. The mugger finally stopped shuddering, let out a death rattle, and lay still, now definitely dead._

* * *

Desmond's first kill. At the age of 8. He started early, didn't he?

And YES, it DID take me that long to upload. Damn Microsoft Word being a bitch. Poor DJ, this is the one story he's itching to write and nothing's co-operating.

Reviews appreciated, flames used to cook lunch, and constructive criticism will be taken under advisement.

~ DJ.


	3. Your Guardian Angel

Ohhey, here's an update cos I love you guys.

* * *

"_A grisly discovery early this morning has shocked the city. A body of a young man, killed and left abandoned in the gutter, was found at about 6:15am when nearby neighbors were awakened by gunshots. Police were called to the scene, and are treating this as a murder. A police spokesperson had this to say:_

'_The victim was shot in the back of the head with a large-caliber handgun, which would've killed him instantly, we hope. The victim has been identified as a Mr. Steven Saunders, 23. His wallet was still in his pocket, as well as 25 dollars in cash, ruling out robbery as a motive. We urge anyone who may know anything about this to speak up.'_

_Steven Saunders was well-liked at the University he attended, with friends all over the campus saying they were 'horrified' at what had happened to him. One girl burst into tears upon hearing the news, and another promptly fainted. Steven's mother pleads for the killer to give himself up, saying that 'This was not just a random person on the street… This was my son…'_

_In the months leading to his death, Steven had become bitter and moody. Friends blamed this on the stress of schoolwork, but a search of his locker revealed several grams of heroin, which may have-"_

_Zeke hastily turned the TV off, his face a mask of worry. "Okay, okay… Des, you listening?" He snapped his fingers in front of Desmond's face, who up until then had been staring silently at the TV. Desmond blinked twice, snapping out of his trance, and looked at Zeke in curiosity. "You need to hide the gun. Get rid of it. Put it somewhere where no-one will see it. I… I need to wash this godamned blood off me…" Zeke ordered, mumbling the last part. He was trying hard to hide it, but Desmond could still see the worry and concern on Zeke's face._

"_Desmond! You hear me?" Zeke asked. Desmond hadn't said a word, which wasn't unusual. But Zeke had thought that his brother would at least show some form of regret, worry. But none of these things could be found on Desmond's blank expression. It was as if Desmond had no idea what he had done wrong._

"_Hide the gun, Des. Hurry, before Dad gets up." This time, Desmond nodded. Thankfully, their father had been fast asleep, passed out on the couch in a drunken stupor by the time they had gotten home._

"_I gotta wash this stuff off me…" Zeke muttered, making a beeline for the shower. Desmond watched him close the bathroom door behind him, then looked at the black TV screen. Perhaps he understood the seriousness of what he had done, and perhaps he didn't. But whether he understood it or not, Zeke had sounded serious… No, not serious… Scared? Afraid? Of what?_

_Desmond?_

* * *

Flippy limped through town, the crutches DJ had given him helping immensely. Every time Flippy's injured foot touched the ground, a bolt of numbing pain was sent up his leg. As he approached the local diner, where he always had his breakfast of toasted waffles at 11 am sharp, his mind was hard at work.

He entered the diner, taking his usual spot near the entrance, and wordlessly someone placed a plate of toasted waffles in front of him.

"You're about twelve minutes late, Flippy." Giggles said, placing a knife and fork beside the plate. "I had to re-heat it. Where've you been?"

Flippy shrugged. Giggles was always one for gossip, and anything he told her would be spread across the town within hours. And when he made it a point to be here at 11 am sharp everyday, no doubt this was setting off her 'GOSSIP ALARM' when he came in late and with crutches. She had been working as a waitress at the diner for quite some time now, a job that she enjoyed for two reasons: The pay was good, and the gossip was better.

"Good morning to you too, Giggles." Flippy neutrally replied, grabbing the knife & fork and slicing his waffles in half. "How's the boyfriend?"

"Cuddles? Oh, he's brilliant! Look what he got me!" Giggles indicated to the bow that she always had on her head, giggling like her name.

"Isn't that the same bow you wear every day?"

"No! Cuddles assured me this was o.3 tones darker red than the usual type! How romantic!" Giggles swooned, and Flippy tried hard not to laugh.

"The modern-day Romeo." He agreed. "Shouldn't you be working now?"

Giggles waved his query away. "Oh, the only person who's in here this early apart from you is Disco Bear, and he's halfway through the 10-ton heart-attack dish he ordered."

"Fair enough." Flippy shrugged, spooning another mouthful of the delicious waffles in his mouth. Delicious was an understatement, really. It was more like 'It's a party in my mouth, and everyone's orgasming.'

"So where HAVE you been? You didn't answer my earlier question." Giggles prodded, itching for gossip.

"Oh, well, I just went and had a talk with that DJ over at his place."

At the mention of DJ's name, Giggles visibly stiffened. Giggles had never really liked DJ, and in return DJ didn't even bother trying to hide his disdain for the pink chipmunk. Flippy still didn't know what the issue between the two was, and he made no effort to pry. Mainly because these waffles were awesome, but he was never one to put his nose where it didn't belong if he could help it.

"He's not that bad a guy once you get to know him, Giggles." He said through a mouthful of waffles. "He's just nervous around new people, I think."

Before Giggles could reply, there was a sudden 'THUD' as someone crashed into the glass door, before a voice shouted out "Damnit, Giggles! When are you going to get automatic doors?"

"Handy's here." Giggles noted, rising out of her chair. "I should get back to work. Nice talking to you, Flippy." She took a few steps towards the door, where Handy was waiting impatiently for someone to open it, and turned back to Flippy as a thought struck her. "Oh, and a word of advice: Whatever DJ says to you, don't believe it. The man's a pathological liar, and he wouldn't hesitate to stab you in the back for the hell of it." She spoke with such venom that Flippy was unfamiliar with from her. Before Flippy could swallow his waffles and reply, she had already left to open the door for Handy and subsequently make him some breakfast.

* * *

_It was only an hour later when police knocked on the door of the Jazed household. Say what you will about the English police force, but when someone is killed in a public place, they work fast and efficiently. Lyle Jazed remained on the sofa as the door was repeatedly knocked upon, perhaps hoping whoever it was banging at his door at the ungodly hour of 7am would give up._

"_Alright, alright, I'm coming, hold your horses…" Lyle shouted at the door, giving up waiting. He picked himself up off the couch, stretching and yawning, before stumbling to the door and ripping it open. "What?" He demanded._

_A gold, police issue ID was shoved in his face._

"_Mr. Jazed, I'm Senior Constable Joe McAffery, this is Constable Cameron Smith. May we come in?"_

"_Of… Of course, come in…" Lyle waved the two inside, trying to hide his hangover. "What can I help you with?"_

"_Tell me, Mr. Jazed." McAffery began, as Smith wandered away, sniffing. "Have you seen the news recently?"_

* * *

It was an hour later when Flippy got back home. Getting to and from places would be much slower with these crutches. He might have to take a cab, or – god forbid – the bus around town to get to where he needed to. Pondering these thoughts, Flippy shut the door behind him as he entered his house (though in reality, it was more like a bunker), making a beeline for the battered, old couch. Lying down on it and taking the pressure off his leg was a welcome relief, and staring up at the ceiling, Flippy began to think.

Who was DJ? For everything he knew about DJ, there was about ten times as much as he didn't know. Whenever someone asked DJ about his past, he expertly dodged the question with ease. He didn't go out of his way to meet people, seemingly content with being alone. Nothing seemed to bother him… Or, rather, he didn't care. When someone was killed right in front of him he barely reacted, like a few days ago when Mime had been flattened like a pancake by a steamroller driven by, surprise, Lumpy. While those in the vicinity screamed and wept at Mime's crushed body, DJ simply glanced at the horrific sight with an intrigued glance, then simply continued on his way.

Not only that, but it seemed as though he went out of his way to avoid others. He barely attended neighborhood gatherings, and on the rare occasions that he did, he was silent the entire way through. It occurred to Flippy that he was really the only person DJ talked to.

A thought struck Flippy: He still had that note he 'stole' from DJ.

He reached into his jacket, taking the photo and inspecting it. DJ in the picture was happy, smiling cheerfully, a far cry of the DJ now. The other cat, the one that must be Zeke (Flippy was assuming DJ was Desmond) was also grinning toothily. The two didn't look like brothers. Zeke was taller, more muscular, and a few fur shades darker. DJ was uncomfortable in front of the camera, his smile shaky but true, the nervous smile of a nervous child. But his eyes… He couldn't have been more than six or seven at the time this picture was taken, but his eyes let on more than just childlike innocence. A knowing, a glint of something that didn't belong there…

'_Who is this guy…'_ Evil wondered, and it wouldn't be the last time he or Flippy wondered that.

A thought struck Flippy suddenly… No, not a through, but a memory. The first time he talked to DJ, months ago, after DJ's arrival and subsequent death via Evil. As with all Evil's victims, Flippy had personally met them once they respawned at the local hospital to apologize and explain the rules of HT Town if they were new here. No-one knew exactly why the respawn point was the hospital, and how everyone would awake not just anywhere in the hospital, but in a bed, their belongings usually in the bedside drawer. Nor did anyone know what happened to their bodies after death. They just seemed to disappear once you looked away. Flippy had once stared at Toothy's corpse after he was impaled on a tree for a full hour, and looked away only once to wave to Flaky. When he looked back at the body a second later, it was gone.

But that's beside the point.

Flippy would always meet Evil's victims upon respawning to apologize, even if Evil had done it hundreds of times before. Of course, this would've been DJ's first time dying, so Flippy knew to play it carefully. He'd seen some unable to comprehend what had happened, losing their grip on sanity and running away as fast as they could. Flippy never saw them again, and since it was damned near impossible to get through the forest bordering HT Town to the outside world, he'd simply assumed they'd died along the way, outside the town's boundaries, where the reincarnation effect didn't reach there, and their death was permanent.

But that was only about… 20% of those. The remaining 80% didn't go insane… Well, not noticeably, anyway. Still, though.

When Flippy had gone to meet DJ in the hospital, DJ was unconscious. This was to be expected: The more violent the death, the longer it took to awake. But his unconsciousness didn't last long. Only a few minutes after Flippy had arrived, DJ sat upright, suddenly awake, and upon looking at his surroundings, muttered two words that said more than anything else could.

"_It's true." _DJ had muttered.

Flippy didn't know what the cat was referring to, but later on after the conversation, he figured it out.

DJ had already known about the effects of living in HT Town.

Ding-dong. The shrill ringing of Flippy's doorbell rung through the house, jarring Flippy from his train of through. "It's open." He shouted, knowing full well who it would be. Closing the door behind her, Flaky entered, looking just as cute as ever. Every day, around midday or so, Flaky & Flippy got together for a few games of Go Fish. Even though Flippy wasn't as much as a recluse as when this started, this tradition continued nonetheless, for reasons neither of which were sure of.

"What happened to your leg?" She gasped upon seeing Flippy's bandaged foot.

"Good morning to you too, Flaky." Flippy waved. "Coffee?"

"Flippy, what happened?"

"Long story short, it got caught in a closing door."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. DJ bandaged it up and gave me these crutches to use."

"DJ?" Flaky asked, raising an eyebrow. "The loner cat who lives in the mansion on the edge of the town?"

"Score one for Miss Flaky. I thought I'd talk to DJ, see how things are going. Guy's got a ton of emotional problems, but I'll be damned if he actually admits 'em."

"Uh…Huh." Flaky slowly nodded, the she leaned over and poked Flippy's bandaged foot.

"Ow?" Flippy winced, then glanced at Flippy questioningly

"Just checking." She shrugged sheepishly. Then, her eyes lit up as she got an idea. "Hey Flippy, I've thought of something…"

"Oh? Do tell."

"Me and Petunia are hosting a little gathering, a picnic & movie thing, with a few others in a couple of days. You wanna see if DJ wants to join us?"

"Hmmm… I'm not sure if I'll be able to convince him, but okay, I'll give it a go. Now stop stalling, I've been itching to beat you in Go Fish for the past hour."

"The day you beat me at Go Fish is the day Lifty & Shifty give to charity." Flaky laughed, and the game commenced.

* * *

_Desmond and Zeke heard the sound of the policeman's footsteps climbing up the stairs, as well as hurried voices. Zeke patted his brother once on the hand. "It's gonna be fine, Des. We'll be fine."_

_Desmond could only nod silently, suddenly more nervous than before._

_The door was pushed open, and in stepped Senior Constable McAffery. Constable Smith followed behind him, sniffing the air conspicuously. "Boys, my name is Senior Constable Joe McAffery, I need to talk to you two."_

_Zeke glanced at Smith, sniffing around the room, then nodded. "S-sure."_

"_Alright, have you two seen the news on the TV recently?"_

_Zeke glanced at Desmond. "No, sir."_

"_Well, let me get you up to date. At around 6 am this morning, a young man was shot and killed with a large-caliber pistol. Motive unknown, assailant unknown. But, luckily for us, someone caught a glimpse of the murderer as they ran away."_

"_Sir!" Smith interrupted, bringing everyone's attention to him. "Look what I found." He said, and held up the previously-hidden Desert Eagle. Desmond silently cursed. He should've hidden it better… Not in the bloody sock drawer…_

"_Look at that." McAffery beamed, grinning. "We've got the murder weapon, we've got the body, all we need is the motive and the murderer." The grin disappeared, and he fixed the two cats with a hardened stare. "What I really want to know, though, is which one of you pulled the trigger."_

_Desmond returned the officer's cold gaze with one of his own. The officer was smart. McAffery had studied the body himself, noting that the bullet's trajectory meant that it had been fired from below, from someone smaller. It had been fired from behind, and judging by the spots of blood around Zeke's left ear – clearly, he didn't wash as good as he'd hoped – which McAffery undoubtly would've noticed, that meant that Zeke was standing in front of the victim when he was shot. So, really, that left only one logical option._

_Desmond knew it, and so did the officer._

_Which is why they both were surprised when Zeke stood up, took a deep breath, and said; "I did it. I killed the guy."_

"_Sorry?" McAffery asked, thrown off his game somewhat, his attention now fully fixed on the jaguar standing before him._

"_I shot the guy. There was a struggle, one thing lead to another, and next thing I know I had grabbed his gun, aimed it behind his head, and pulled the trigger."_

_McAffery silently thought about this for a minute, casting his gaze from the shaking Zeke, to the stunned Desmond, then back to Zeke. Then, finally, he got up, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pair of handcuffs._

"_Ezekiel Jazed, you are under arrest for the murder of one Mr. Steven Saunders. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. Is there anything you wish to say before I take you into custody?"_

_Zeke took another breath, then exhaled. "No." He replied in a calm voice, holding his hands in front of him for the handcuffs. "I have nothing to say for myself."_

"_NO!" Desmond cried, the sound of his voice stunning everyone. He leapt to his feet, quickly running to his brother's side, tears of desperation in his eyes. "Don't take him away! Don't take him to the 'lectric chair!"_

"_Desmond…" Zeke began, but his younger brother would not be perturbed._

"_No, don't go, Zeke! Don't let them take you away!" He cried, wrapping his arms tightly around Ezekiel's leg._

"_I have to, Des." Zeke replied calmly, stroking the young cat's fur._

"_Why?" Desmond sobbed, not letting go of his brother's leg. Ezekiel knelt down, wrapped his arms tightly around his brother in a hug that would be the last one in a long time, and whispered only so Desmond could hear it._

"_Because you don't deserve to be sent to juvenile." He whispered. Zeke had accepted his fate. Desmond was too young to have his life ruined by juvy, as Zeke had his life ruined by it before he was adopted into the Jazed household. Then, hands were pulling them apart, and Desmond's grip on his brother was wrenched free as his father yanked him away._

"_Zeke!" Desmond cried, as McAffery locked the handcuffs on a willing Zeke, and led him out the door and down the stairs, Smith following them. "Please! No!"_

"_Desmond, calm down!" Lyle shouted, trying to hold his struggling boy. "Desmond!" He yelled as Desmond ripped himself free, sprinting out the door and down the stairs._

_Out the window, Ezekiel Jazed tilted his head as McAffery shoved him in the back seat of the police car, Smith already in the driver's seat._

"_No." Desmond sobbed, staring out the window. "No…"_

_As if he heard Desmond, Zeke turned his head, locking eyes with Desmond one final time. He smiled reassuringly, holding his hand up against the window in a last goodbye. Desmond, with tears in his eyes, copied him, placing his hand against the window pane too. The two shared one unspoken goodbye._

_Then the police car revved, and drove away._

_Desmond watched the car drive away with sad eyes, until it was nothing more than a pinprick in the distance. Then and only then did he remove his hand from the window, tears falling freely, and sighed._

"_Zeke…" He whimpered one last time, before putting his head down and sobbing._


	4. Alone in the Dark

I apologies for the late update for anyone who's still reading this (which, let's face it, is probably two or three people), and wish you a good day on my birthday. Woo woo woo, you know it.

* * *

_26__th__ April, 1997._

_The night after his brother's arrest, Desmond sat silently at the dining table, a plate of uneaten steak in front of him. He wasn't exactly hungry, and considering these recent event, it wasn't that surprising. It's only been 24 hours, yet Desmond already missed Zeke. Zeke had this charismatic ability to cheer you up with a smirk and a nod, an ability that when combined with his chiseled physique and the habit of not wearing shirts, certainly made him popular with several high-school teen girls who, amid whispered giggles, observed Zeke picked up Desmond from school once or twice in his 58' Plymouth Fury._

_Oh, how he wished Zeke was still here…_

"_It just goes to show that he is not one of us." Lyle said though a mouthful of steak. "I mean, really. I should've seen this kind of trouble coming from the moment I adopted him. He's not part of my bloodline. No, he's just a commoner. And I'll tell you something about commoners, Desmond. They see us, the rich folk, the successful folk, and they hate us. Because they're jealous of the fact that we are better than them."_

_Desmond was listening to more of his father's tirade than he wanted to. Lyle swallowed a particularly large bite of the meat, and already had another piece impaled on his fork. "And the thing is," Lyle continued. "Those people, the commoners who hate us because they're not us, would kill. They would gladly rip out your eyes, Desmond, just for a tenth of what I have. They can't be trusted, because underneath the skin, they all are bad people. They're nothing but scum on the face of God's green earth, and Ezekiel was one of them."_

"_No he wasn't." Desmond spoke up, quietly but forcefully. "Zeke was a good person."_

_Lyle paused, shocked that his son had spoken out against him. Then, he lowered his fork to his plate and shook his head. "No, Desmond. He wasn't."_

"_But he-"_

_SMACK!_

_Desmond rubbed the side of his face where his father's slap had connected, his voice dying in his throat. Tears began to swell in his eyes and the pain ran through him, and Lyle sat back down in his seat with a casual thump._

"_Never interrupt me again, you damned retard." He hissed, fixing Desmond with a glare that could've frozen the sun. "You need to learn a lesson in respect, boy. Or would you rather be outside, with the commoners baying for your blood?"_

_Slowly, Desmond shook his head._

"_I thought so. C'mon, you." Lyle grabbed Desmond by the wrist, with a grip as tight as an Iron Maiden, and dragged the unresisting cat from the dining table, their respective meals forgotten. Lyle led his son down the hallway, stopping by the side of the stairs. He fumbled around in his pockets, before finding a pair of keys and unlocking the door to the basement. He pushed Desmond inside, and slammed the door shut._

_Darkness surrounded Desmond. He whimpered loudly._

"_I know it's dark. Hopefully this'll teach you a lesson in respect." Lyle's voice said, from the outside door. Then, footsteps fading away as his father left him locked in the darkness._

_Desmond, blind , alone, and scared, knelt down in a corner and put his head in his hands._

* * *

"Do you have a… eight?" Flippy asked, studying his cards carefully. He had three sixes, two nines, a jack, and two eights. He wasn't good at this game. Flaky grinned, and shook her head.

"Nope. Go fish."

Flippy grabbed a card from the pile, glanced at it, and moaned. "Why don't I ever get anything useful?"

Flaky shrugged. "Probably because you really suck at this game. You got any sixes?"

"Damnit." Flippy threw his sixes to Flaky, two out of three of them landing in Flaky's quills.

"Was that really necessary?" Flaky asked, pulling the cards out of her quills and inspecting the newly-crafted holes in them.

"Yes." Flippy replied, in a tone that didn't show whether he was joking or being serious. Either way, Flaky got the hint that he was tired of the game, and began packing the cards up.

"Soooo…" Flippy twiddled his thumbs, thinking. "This gathering of yours, what's the plan for it?"

Flaky paused for a second, then recalled the general plan she and some others had agreed upon. "Well, we've decided that we'll bring some party food to the town square, and we'll have a late-night showing of movies. We're not sure what movies yet, Giggles seems dead-set on some Twilight thing… but it's generally a socializing thing. You can never have enough friends, right?"

"Suppose not…" Flippy mulled, not entirely sure about that. "So who's attending?"

"Pretty much everyone." Flaky shrugged. "Pop agreed to bring Cub, on the condition that they both be home by 8, and I think Petunia managed to convince Lifty & Shifty that they could attend if they behaved."

There was a short pause. Then, "How the hell did she convince them to do that?" Flippy asked incuriously.

Flaky shook her head. "Beats me. Everyone else, I think, have confirmed their attendance." Then, another short pause. "Well, everyone, except…" She trailed off, and grinned.

"Everyone except?" Flippy prodded on.

"You, silly."

"Oh. Well, consider this my response: I accept this invite, and will await the glorious evening in which I shall be enjoying myself heartily with my friends."

"Good lad." Flaky nodded, then frowned as a thought occurred to her. "What about DJ?"

"Hmmm? Oh, yeah. I should probably call him and ask."

"That might be helpful, yes." Flaky agreed. Flippy reached for his phone, and remembering DJ telling him the number once before, tapped in the numbers and held it to his ear as Flaky went to get a drink.

_Brrrrring._ Wait, was it even the right number?

_Brrrrring._ Yes, because it has the three consecutive sixes in the middle of it, Flippy remembered that.

_Brrrrring._ That can't be coincidence…

Finally, on the fourth or fifth ring, the phone was answered with DJ's soft English accent.

* * *

_September 22__nd__, 1997._

_The cold wind billowed through the streets of Manchester, freezing the blood inside Desmond. He shivered, hugging himself for warmth, and continued his walk home. School had been just as bad as usual, with the comments about being 'the murderer's brother' being particularly insistent, and as per usual Desmond said nothing about it. Really, who was going to listen? The teachers, in all honesty, cared more about their next paycheck than the welfare of students, and if his father was going to care, think again._

_Desmond glanced at his watch, and exhaled in tiredness. 5:00. School ended about an hour ago. Lyle knew how long the walk from school to home was, and did nothing to help, why? 'To build up muscle or something like that.' It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Lyle honestly didn't give a damn._

_Zeke used to pick him up…_

_Desmond sighed. Zeke was going to be gone for a minimum of eight years, he might as well try to get used to life without him._

"_Hey!"_

_Oh, dear._

"_I'm talking to you, you little asshole!"_

_Desmond glanced backwards, and shivered. The shouter, a faintly-recognizable blue ferret, stepped up from behind Desmond, malice in his eyes. "Pay attention, bitch."_

_Desmond froze where he stood, watching the ferret with fearful eyes. Something was familiar about him… But what?_

"_Your brother killed my brother." The ferret spat._

_Oh. That explains it._

"_Your asshole brother's lucky he's in jail, and not anywhere near me." The ferret said, taking a step towards Desmond. "You, on the other hand…"_

_Desmond whimpered, and took a step back._

"_I'm going to make your brother feel the same way I feel… By killing HIS brother!" The ferret cried, and brandished a small bowie knife. The lowering sun glinted off the polished steel, the ferret's eyes reflecting a disturbing lack of sanity. Desmond gulped audibly, his eyes fixated on the knife, and took another step backwards._

"_No no, stay still, you coward. This won't hurt a bit… For me." And with a slasher smile that Jack Torrance would be proud of, the ferret leapt forward and slashed the knife right at Desmond's face._

_Desmond, having already taken several steps backward, was already prepared to flee, but this caught him by surprise. He stumbled back, trying to avoid the knife's blow… and failed._

_The knife sliced a gash of Desmond's forehead, just about his left eye. The cut probably wasn't too deep, but blood still dribbled out in front of Desmond's eyes. Seeing your own blood dripping in front of you may be the deciding factor in a 'flight or flight' response, and for Desmond, who was never a type to fight, this was a sign that it would probably be best if he started running like hell._

_Desmond, clutching at his bleeding face with one hand, desperately ran as the ferret got to his feet and chased after the cat. "Stop running, you'll just die tired!" The ferret screeched, which in retrospect was a pretty decent badass call. Still, Desmond ignored him, and with harrowed breaths, tried to put some distance between himself and his crazed attacker._

_Since his pursuer was taller, more athletic and dangerously unstable, he quickly caught up, and with a dirty, unkempt hand, reached out and grabbed Desmond by the scruff of his neck, literally lifting him off the ground. Desmond had only a fleeting moment of floating, before he felt the blade of the knife press against his throat._

"_Any last words?" The ferret whispered in his ear._

_Instead of saying an iconic string of words, Desmond only whimpered and struggled._

"_I'll take that as a no." The ferret whispered, and poised to slice Desmond's throat open…_

_When one of Desmond's errant kicks managed to land squarely in the ferret's crotch._

_The ferret hissed, his hold on Desmond weakening in favor of protecting his doubloons. Desmond wrenched himself free from the ferret's grip, and sprinted, sprinted away, around a corner, and quickly hid himself underneath a parked sedan._

_No less than two seconds later, the ferret rounded the corner, one hand against his weak spot, the other still brandishing the knife. From Desmond's point of view, the ferret's feet paused just inches from the car, the ferret apparently looking around, then continued down the path._

_Desmond breathed, and rolled out from underneath the car. Smiling in relief, he wiped the dripping blood from his vision, and continued his walk home in the cold dark._

* * *

DJ's fingers tapped the keys of his grand piano with precision and accurate timing, despite having his eyes closed. The tune of Michael Giacchino's Life & Death echoed through the room, the music bringing a sad smile to DJ's face. Finishing the final notes, he rested his hands above the keyboard, and breathed deeply.

_Brrrrring._

DJ's eyes snapped open, his smile turning into a frown at this disturbance as the ringing echoed throughout the house.

_Brrrrring._

He glanced at the caller ID, and raised an eyebrow. Flippy? What was he calling for?

_Brrrrring._

DJ mentally debated whether he should answer it, before the better half won, and he answered it on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"_DJ, it's Flippy."_

"So the caller ID says." DJ noted, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?"

"_Well, a few of us were organizing a get-together, a snacks and late-night movie thing, and I was wondering if-"_

"No." DJ instantly replied.

"_Why not?"_

"Large crowds aren't exactly my thing."

"_Oh, pish-posh."_

"… Did you just say 'pish-posh'?" DJ asked, raising an eyebrow.

"_Irrelevant. C'mon, DJ. You need to get out of your shell and, you know, meet other people. Make some friends."_

"I don't need friends."

"_Everyone needs friends. We're all very nice people, DJ. Mostly."_

"Look, Flippy, I appreciate you asking me, but the answer is no." DJ said sternly, and was on the verge of ending the call when Flippy pulled out his hidden ace.

"_I think one of the movies showing will be a Stephen King one."_

DJ paused, the mention of a movie based off one of Stephen King's novels appealing to him. Finally, he sighed in defeat. "Where and when?"

* * *

_Desmond silently closed the front door behind him as he stepped into his home. Already, he could smell the stench of liquor. Father's been drinking. Again. Unsurprised, Desmond tip-toed into the lounge room and glanced at his father. Lyle Jazed, once again passed out in a drunken haze, snored lightly as a bottle of empty alcohol was clutched in his left hand, the right holding a picture frame, the contents partially hidden behind Lyle's figure. Desmond glanced at his father's sleeping face, and took a few tentative steps forward. His curiosity far outweighing his sense fear, he reached for the picture frame._

_Lyle Jazed grunted. Desmond literally jumped back as his father pushed himself up, not as asleep as previously thought. Lyle dropped the empty bottle and put his hand to his forehead, most likely feeling a hangover. He fixed Desmond with a drunken stare, eyes unfocused. "Desmond."_

_That one word, spat from Lyle's mouth, was enough to freeze Desmond to the spot._

"_It's your birthday." Lyle noted, and glanced at the picture frame in his right hand. He tossed the picture on the coffee table, and Desmond got a glance of it: Taken many years ago, a smiling Lyle Jazed with a hand around his wife's shoulders, Mary Jazed, Desmond's mother. Desmond looked back up at Lyle._

"_She was the beautiful… Smart… Caring." Lyle said, his eyes fixated on the picture of his deceased wife. "The best woman I ever met. Marrying her was the best day of my life." Then, he gave Desmond a glare that could've disintegrated a boulder. "Then you came along and ruined everything." He spat, his drunken eyes now reflecting hatred, sorrow, anger. "Everything was perfect. I was happy. She was happy. Hell, even Ezekiel was happy. But you… You just HAD to come along and FUCK EVERYTHING UP!" Lyle furiously roared._

_Desmond trembled._

"_Do you have any idea… ANY IDEA how much you've ruined my life? She died, MARY DIED bringing you into this world, and how do you honor her memory? By being a FUCKING DISGRACE!"_

_Desmond was on the verge of tears, willing himself to stay strong as his father calmed himself, staring at the picture of Mary._

"_Desmond, for your birthday, can you do me a favor?" And Lyle looked at Desmond with a look that nightmares are made of. "Die."_

_Tears welled, and began to leak as Desmond backed up and ran from the room, from his monster of a father. _

* * *

Yeah… sucks massively to be DJ. Reviews are welcomed. Bloody Vengeance will (hopefully) be updated within the coming week, and Bermuda closely afterwards.

Cheers.

~ DJ.


	5. This Is Who I Really Am

Lookie here updates. Thanks to all for the reviews thus far, and here's hoping I'm not such a lazy prick.

Chapter 5: This Is Who I Really Am

* * *

"How did I get roped into doing this again?" DJ quietly wondered aloud as he looked at the clothing he'd arranged for himself. Usually he detested dressing formally, instead preferring the casual feel of jean shorts, but Flippy had said something about dressing properly, whatever that means. Truth be told, dressing in a suit made him feel too much like his father… And that was the last thing DJ wanted to be. But he had worked around it. No clichéd three-piece suit, no way. His usual dark jean shorts and purple & black goggles had stayed, however in an effort to look semi-formal he had tossed on a white short-sleeved shirt underneath a dark purple buttoned vest, with a plain black tie to boot. Looking in the mirror, he had to admit that he looked particularly dashing. Sexy, perhaps.

**BEEP, BEEP.**

That' be Flippy. DJ gave himself a quick final check, concluded that he looked quite handsome, and dashed out his bedroom, grabbing a small novel (_Undead_, by some dude who had multiple names) on the way out just in case. He shut the front door, making sure to lock it securely with the keypad, and strolled down the path to the road, where a red sedan, which in all honesty looked like it had seen better days, was waiting with the engine running.

The front passenger's side window rolled down as DJ approached, and the familiar green bear poked his head out. "DJ!" Flippy said, a beauty of a smile etched on his face. "Glad you decided to join us. Back seat, bro."

"Hello to you too." DJ nodded, opening the back seat door and stepping in the car, slamming it shut behind him. "Afternoon, Flaky." He added, seeing Flaky in the driver's seat. Flaky timidly waved in the rearview mirror in response as she slid the car into drive. Both Flippy and Flaky were also wearing semi-formal attire, Flippy in a pair of black slacks with a white formal shirt, Flaky in a knee-length black skirt and a light blue sweater.

"So, how many of us will be there?" DJ asked as he buckled his seatbelt on.

"Umm, well, everyone who I've asked said yes, so… I'd say around twenty, more or less."

"Twenty…" DJ echoed quietly, beginning to feel uneasy. Really, how did Flippy convince him to go along with this again?

"Ready for the night of your life?" Flippy asked, swiveling in his seat to face DJ.

"As I'll ever be." DJ answered, a tinge of nervousness in his voice. "I-I'm not overdressed or a-anything, am I?" DJ hoped Flippy didn't notice that stutter…

"Nah, you look fine, DJ." Flippy replied, turning back in his seat to face the road.

"We're here." Flaky said around ten minutes later, parking her sedan into a stop next to the city park.

"You excited, DJ?" Flippy asked, leaving his the car before he could get an answer.

"… No…" DJ whispered, having lots of second thoughts. His hands trembled as he opened his door and gingerly stepped out, quietly shutting it behind him. A short walk away, in the center of the park, a movie projector and a portable movie screen were halfway through being set up, and he could hear many voices chatting excitedly. He had a very large urge to turn around and walk away, walk back home if he had to.

A hand was placed on his shoulders before he could.

"You okay? You're shaking." Flaky asked, his eyes awash with concern.

"I can't do this." DJ whispered.

"Sorry?"

"No, I can't do this." DJ quietly mumbled, backing away.

"DJ-"

"I can't do this." DJ repeated a final time, before turning around and hurriedly walking away.

Flippy and Flaky exchanged confused glances. "I better go after him." Flippy said.

* * *

_June 5__th__, 1999._

_It had been slightly more than two years since Ezekiel had been sent to prison, and Desmond, aged 9 by now, was trying to continue his life without his surrogate brother, but being isolated and continuously bullied without anyone to comfort you does wonders for one's mental stability. The gears in Desmond mind weren't working as well as they used to, and his grades were starting to slip. He knew what he needed to, of course, but when it came to writing it all down, his mind would wander. What was his brother doing now? Is he okay? Will… Will he ever see him again?_

"_Alright, folks, group around, group around. Desmond, c'mere, join the group."_

_It wasn't just Ezekiel that Desmond was missing. It was the feeling of comfort, knowing that if all else failed, there would be someone waiting at him at home, ready to lend a shoulder to cry on._

"_Desmond!"_

_Desmond snapped out of his daydreamed stupor, shaking his head. Blinking, he glanced in the gym teacher's general direction. The school gym teacher, a burly brown bear known as Mr. Willis, waved the cat over to the rest of the class, all huddled in a bunch._

_God, Desmond hated Gym class._

"_C'mon, Desmond, join the group. We won't bite."_

_Desmond approached the group reluctantly, feeling his classmate's eyes stare into him, and stopped on the outskirts of the group. Satisfied that Desmond was now in listening range, Mr. Willis began his lesson, his loud booming voice echoing throughout the empty building. "Alright, listen up! Today, we're gonna start with some swimming lessons. Swimming is a very important part of your life, and also great exercise and fun. So go change into your swimming gear, and meet me back here in 5. Got it?"_

"_GOT IT!" 99% of the class shouted back, before separating into two groups according to their sexes and heading to their respective changing rooms. The remaining 1% did nothing. He didn't shout back with the rest of the class. He didn't split up. He didn't go to his changing room._

_No. That 1% stood there in a stunned stupor, unable to comprehend what he'd just heard._

_That 1% was, unsurprisingly, Desmond._

_Today was not going to be a good day._

* * *

Flippy jogged the best someone could with a partially crushed foot, heading in what he hoped was the direction DJ had run off in. Thankfully DJ had left some footsteps in his wake, making tracking easy for the old army vet, as if his army training wasn't help enough. Flippy brushed aside a swinging tree branch, following the trail away from the main grounds into deeper, more dense territory. Frankly he didn't exactly know where this trail would be leading him, but doubted it would be straying outside the boundaries of the 'HT Curse.' They were too close to the center of town to do that.

Flippy ducked underneath another low hanging branch, looking around on the edges of his vision for any clues as to what DJ could be doing here. It occurred to him that with all the trees and heavy forest elements, along with the general loneliness this area gave off, that this would be the perfect place for Slenderman to appear.

Flippy paused at that thought, and then mentally slapped himself. He'd been watching too much Marble Hornets… Damned paranoia. ]

The sound of someone's footsteps reached Flippy's ears.

Flippy reflectively ducked to the ground as silent as possible, army instincts kicking in as he scanned the area whilst concealing himself behind a leafy bush.

The footsteps continued…

Seeing no Slenderman around him, (once again mentally slapping himself for thinking such a thing) Flippy looked through the bush, where the sound of footsteps were coming front, and raised his eyebrows.

Just in front the bush he was hiding behind was a clearing. Not just any clearing, but… An old playground. An old, abandoned playground. Flippy shivered. Seeing a playground completely devoid of life sent a chill down his spine, it was just unnerving.

Wait. It wasn't completely devoid of life.

The footsteps… Had stopped.

Flippy focused looking across the playground for the owner of the footsteps, and found it at the swing set.

DJ sat silently on the swing, slowly drifting back and forth. He sat hunched over, his face buried in his hands, unmoving. This only served to further unnerve Flippy.

Flippy got up and began approaching the distraught cat, his feet brushing and crunching the dead leaves beneath them. "DJ?" He called out. "You okay?"

DJ raised his head a fraction, his eyes meeting Flippy's, and in that instant Flippy knew that DJ was not okay.

"DJ?"

"I'm fine." DJ answered, his tone of voice shaky and very un-DJ like.

Flippy sat down on the swing next to DJ. "I didn't know this playground was here." He observed.

"It is. It's just that the walk to it through the forest is terrifying." DJ explained as he raised his head and took a breath. "Which is why I like it. No-one else is ever here. I can be alone."

"Uh… huh." Flippy nodded, not exactly understanding.

"Why did you follow me, Flippy?" DJ asked in monotone. Any other time it would be creepy, but now it was just sad.

"I was worried about you."

"I… Don't like crowds."

"Ah." Flippy nodded. He doubted that was the full reason, but he kept silent. Flippy unconsciously reached into his pocket, feeling the thin wrap of a photo, and pulled it out of his pocket. He examined it, remembering it was the photo of DJ and another cat which he accidently stole yesterday. "Here, I think this is yours." Flippy said, handing the photo of DJ and Zeke over. DJ took it with a shaky hand, tears escaping from his eyes and he wiped a smidge of dirt away from one corner of the photo, before lowering his head into his hands once again. Flippy patted DJ on the shoulder once, then got up and began to leave.

"I didn't have a lot of friends, growing up."

Flippy stopped, turning as he heard DJ's voice. DJ's eyes, wet with tears, stared into his before he swallowed and continued his explanation.

"From a very early age, I was left to fend for myself. My dad wasn't exactly father of the year material. I didn't get along well with others. My only friend was Zeke, and he…" DJ paused, sniffed, and wiped his eyes. "He's gone now. He's gone, and it was all my fault. I don't want to get close to anyone else, because I know I'll probably do something that'll make them hate me forever, like everyone else does… I just don't want to be alone, but I'm too scared not to be."

"DJ, why are you telling me this?" Flippy asked.

"Because you're the closest thing I've got to a friend right now." DJ replied, silently crying.

As DJ put his head back in his hands, Flippy quietly patted him on the shoulder. "DJ, although you don't believe this, you've got more friends than you know. And you could make even more if you socialize a bit more. Do you want to come back to the park with me to meet the others?"

"No… Gimme a few minutes, I'll meet you there." DJ sniffed.

Flippy smiled. "Good lad. Remember, we're here for you." He said, patting his friend once more on the shoulder before turning around and leaving.

* * *

"_Alright folks, let's get started! Everyone in the pool on the count of three!"_

_Desmond glanced at his classmates, noting the look of primal enjoyment etched on each of their faces, the exact opposite of what he felt at that moment._

"_One…"_

_His gaze fell to the water, swishing and slopping grandiosely at the edges._

"_Two…"_

_He shivered._

"_Three!"_

_In unison, the class jumped into the pool with either squeals of delight, or squeals of shock once their felt the temperature of the water. "The water'll warm up after you're in there for a while." Mr. Willis explained as he himself climbed in, shivering only once before regaining his composure. Then he glanced at the edge of the pool, and frowned. "C'mon, Desmond. Care to join us?"_

"_I'd rather not." Desmond whispered, shaking his head. Whereas everyone else had leapt into the pool as if they were on fire, Desmond had instead taken a step back, something about this whole thing unnerving him._

"_The water's fine, Desmond. Don't make me come up and throw you in."_

_Desmond looked positively terrified at Mr. Willis's remark, glancing at the teacher and the pool itself. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he nervously put a foot forward and dipped it in the cool water._

_Desmond promptly withdrew his foot. "It's cold…"_

"_It gets warmer once you move about."_

_Desmond still looked unconvinced, and took a deep breath. Slowly but surely, he lowered himself into the pool, the cold waters making him shiver once more, holding onto the edge railing, when the water reached his chest and he couldn't touch the bottom._

"_Good lad." Mr. Willis said. "Good lad."_

_Then, before Desmond knew what was going on, he felt a pair of hands grab his feet from underwater, and yank him down._

_His vision blurred as the water mixed with a dose of chlorine stung his eyes, and the cold liquid rushing through his nose and mouth clouded his brain and hurt his lungs. Desmond cried out, making no sound but few bubbles. He thrashed and struggled, his lungs burning, his mind crying, pleading for it to stop. His vision began to blacken…_

_And just as soon as it started, it stopped, and Desmond was pulled to the surface, coughing and spluttering._

"_What are ya, stupid?" Mr. Willis shouted at a boy moose. "You could've drowned him!"_

"_I was just helping him get more prepared in the water, sir." The boy moose, said, smiling mischievously. "Not my fault he wasn't prepared or nothing."_

"_Stupid little… Desmond! Where you going?"_

_Oblivious to Mr. Willis shouting after him, Desmond exited the pool weakly, drenched wet, and walked directly to the changing room._

_He couldn't face that again._

* * *

Flippy's footsteps crunched leaves and brushed dirt as he slowly made his way back to the park. He ducked underneath a low branch, slowing himself as he tried to get his surroundings. Being mostly unfamiliar with this part of the forest, he looked around, trying to find a familiar sight to gain his bearings with.

He found none.

_Lost, are ya?_ A voice in the back of his head drawled, deep and demonic as the person the voice belonged to. _If you let me out, I think I can help you out…_

"No." Flippy said sternly, hating the part of him that was Evil. He strode purposefully onwards, fairly sure this was the direction he was supposed to go. Goddamn, DJ was right. This forest was freaky. All the shifting branches in the wind made it feel like something was watching him.

_Aw, why not? We could have some fun. Just like old times._ Evil's voice said, seeming like it was coming from all around.

Flippy shivered, trying to ignore Evil's voice as it pushed him to let him be free. He hurried his pace, suddenly wanting to get out of the forest right now. This forest wasn't good. Something about this forest was bad, especially when you were alone in it. He stepped on a stick, making a loud cracking noise.

_Gunshot._ Evil teasingly said.

"No…" Flippy shook his head, feeling Evil's influence becoming stronger with each passing second of paranoia and loneliness. He willed himself onwards as Evil's presence grew.

Something behind him snapped, crashing into the ground.

_Dropping bombs._ Evil noted.

"NO!" Flippy yelled, clutching his head as the beginning of a headache stirred, one tell-tale sign that Evil was dangerously close to escaping. He fell to his knees, glancing behind him, seeing just a fallen branch that had snapped off.

"I am not letting you out! Not now, not ever!" Flippy shouted. He had let his guard down for just a second a few minutes ago, which had let Evil take the reins and try to force himself out with lies and deception.

For a second, the headache stopped. Flippy hesitantly released his head, before blinding pain erupted as the headache grew. Flippy felt his vision begin to blacken, and try as he did to fight it, he could feel his teeth sharpening and his eyes focusing, a definitive trait of Evil.

_You don't really have a choice in the matter._ Evil said, but it came out of Flippy's mouth instead.

* * *

Hey, you can't have a story that features Flippy in some way without having Evil come out to play.

Now, let me explain: Although Evil is usually brought on by flashbacks or reminders of the war, I like to think that in times of extreme stress, paranoia, fear, or loneliness, (most of which had occurred in Flippy's lone walk back through the forest, and anyone who has had to walk though a thick forest at late afternoon/early evening alone can attest to this), this could also trigger Evil's rise.

Next chapter will probably be a good one: Evil coming out to play, and a certain DJ flashback scene that I personally love.

Reviews would be nice.


	6. Sick Like Me

Okay, longest chapter I've ever written, maybe? Dunno. Might wanna grab a drink or something. All good? Okay.

* * *

Nutty jittered and bounced, as per the norm somewhere in the middle of one of his sugar-fueled bouts of energy. When the sugar rush settled he'd be extremely tired and sleepy, but Nutty wasn't exactly one to plan for the future. No, he was more concerned with the now, and right now the now concerned him with consuming as much candy as he could.

As everyone else sat down in their respective spots as the movie began, Nutty instead lingered by the snack bar, shoveling handful after handful of sugary treats into his mouth. His lazy eye swirled around in it's socket, taking a glance of the movie, before it resumed it's natural down state. The movie didn't interest him as much as candy did, unsurprisingly…

In his haste to cram as much into his mouth as he could, Nutty accidently dropped a green gumball to the ground. Recoiling in horror, Nutty dived to save the gumball, falling flat on his face in front of the now-dirt-covered gumball. Raising an eyebrow, Nutty seemed to think for a moment, before proclaiming giddily "Five-second rule!" as scooped the gumball into his mouth with his tongue.

The gumball had a distinctive… germy taste now, but Nutty was far from caring. He began to raise himself to his feet, when his lazy eye caught something. A murky-orange gumball, lying just a few meters away. Nutty instantly leapt forward, scooping the gumball into his mouth (along with a handful of dirt, not that he noticed nor minded) and grinned.

Then his lazy eye widened.

A trail of gumballs, all colors of the rainbow and then some, were presented before him, all a meter apart, heading towards the forest.

The common sense part of him told him not to, but that part of him had been drowned out long ago by the lust for candy.

So it wasn't that surprising for Nutty to scramble to his feet and follow the trail, scooping up each gumball as he passed it. More focused on the magnificent trail of gumballs than his surroundings, Nutty looked up from the final gumball to find he was in the forest. Deep, in the forest.

Nutty absent-mindedly popped one of the gumballs into his mouth. Sucking and chewing it, he looked around for two things: More candy, and a path back to the park.

A soft snapping sound came from above.

Nutty looked up just in time for two strong hands to firmly grip his head, and savagely twist it 360 degrees, all the way around.

All Nutty felt was a loud crack, a bolt of pain, then nothing.

Evil pushed Nutty's body to the ground. Internal decapitation. He hadn't done something like that in a while. His deceptive, yellow eyes slowly slid from Nutty's body to the sound of the picnic, where the movie was taking place.

The HT Friends laughed at something in the movie.

To Evil it sounded like an enemy platoon, mocking his efforts.

With a deranged snarl, Evil crept forward.

* * *

_April 8__th__, 2005. 11:13pm._

_Desmond shut the front door silently behind him as he exited his home into the dark moonlight, careful to ensure the sound would be unheard in the dead silent streets. With no indication of anyone hearing, Desmond crept down the path to the sidewalk, and began walking._

_He was a cat of fifteen years by this time, old enough to know that he was different from other kids his age, but too young to understand why. Some, people old and experienced with the ways of the mind, looked into his eyes would know that something was off inside young Desmond, something wrong, sometime unnatural. It'd be years later when Desmond would figure it out himself, but today he was but a mere teenager, different from everyone else for reasons which he was yet to comprehend._

_Desmond walked through the dark night, alone and unnoticed. As time passed, Desmond had began to let his fear of darkness wane, and now instead saw it as not something to be feared… but something in which to be embraced. Nights spent locked in the cellar, alone and in the dark, more or less forced him to abandon his fear and get used to it. He even began to enjoy it, feeling a sense of solitude and belonging in the darkness, where he could blend in with the shadows and withdraw into his own world._

_One of his hands brushed the inside of his jacket pocket, wherein sat two slips of paper, both different. One, a newspaper clipping celebrating Senior Constable Joe McAffery's 20__th__ year in the Manchester police force. Desmond remembered him. He remembered him and his lackey, Constable Cameron Smith, very well, despite nearly a decade passing since they last met._

_The other, a letter from the government._

_The release notice of Ezekiel Jazed, due for parole on the tenth of April. In two days, Desmond would be reunited with perhaps the only being he had ever cared about. Desmond had received the letter a week ago, hiding it from his father like one would hide a secret journal. Lyle Jazed had gotten ever worse in time, if it were possible. Thankfully, he seemed to be pouring most of his time in his work, now owning quite a lot of businesses across England. His attention on Desmond waned significantly, and Desmond had used it to his advantage: For the past few months he'd been sneaking a few hundred dollars a week from his father's bank account, and used it to reserve a decent apartment overlooking the ocean down south._

_Desmond absent-mindedly checked his watch. 11:37. Still good. He began to slow as he reached his destination, a late-night diner that was quite full, despite the late hour. A sign outside the diner simply read: 'Celebrating Constable Joe McAffery's twentieth year in the police force!'_

_Desmond remembered Constable Joe McAffery, alright…_

_But did McAffery remember Desmond? If he didn't, well… things were going to take a severe downfall tonight for Constables McAffery and Smith._

_And if he did, at least Desmond wouldn't have to explain why this was happening._

* * *

"Eyyy, great movie, eh ladies?" Disco Bear purred as he slid in-between Flaky and Petunia, one arm around each of their shoulders. "It's all down and funky, yo."

Petunia and Flaky exchanged simultaneous glanced of disgust. "Uh, Mr. Bear-"

"Just Disco is fine, hun." Disco winked at Flaky, who shuddered under his view.

"R-right. Disco, can you, um… Not do this?" Flaky meekly asked.

The suave smirk of Disco's face fell slightly, as if confused. "Not do what?" He replied.

"Not try this… hooking-up thing, with us."

"Aw, why not? Don't tell me ya'll afraid of my power, yo."

"No-no, Disco. It's just that we've already got boyfriends, and-"

Disco interrupted Flaky's explanation by slapping himself, apperantly having forgotten that very important fact. "Daymn, I forgot, you're with Flippy! I ain't messing with one of his cats, he'll tear me a new groove-hole, yo."

"… I'm a porcupine."

"Whatever. You're single, though, right Petunia? You wouldn't mind taking a ride to Funkytown, huh?"

"I think I would rather peel myself to shreds using an old potato peeler than do that, Disco." Petunia deadpanned, clearly not bothering to be nice about it like Flaky did. Disco frowned.

Then he grinned again.

"Aw, don't play hard to get, beautiful."

This time Petunia facepalmed. "Perhaps I wasn't clear enough. Disco, if I had a choice between spending time with you, and being shot by a catapult into the sun, I'd choose the latter without a second thought."

Disco paused. "Soooo… what you're saying… is I'm hotter than the sun?"

Petunia stared at Disco with dumbfounded eyes, before giving up placing nice and grabbed her drink, in which she then poured its contents into Disco's lap. Disco's 'charm' (using that term loosely here) instantly collapsed, the cold liquid freezing a rather important part of his anatomy. He hissed, getting to his feet and wiping the crotch of his bell-bottom trousers. "Alright, you've made your point. I'll just be over here anyway… Stupid-ass movie anyway…" He muttered, and began walking away.

Unsatisfied with how the evening had gone, Disco headed straight for his car, swearing under his breath. Oh, well. At least his afro was still groovin', even if the ladies weren't movin'. Reaching his car he paused to admire the chrome finish of the automobile, along with his reflecting in the side-view mirror. Satisfied that he still looked sexy (debatable), he shifted around in his pockets for his keys, until suddenly a flash of silver reflected off the shiny surface of the car.

Disco paused, and turned around-

In time for Evil's bowie knife to slash apart his left eyeball, ripping it open like a grape. Disco opened his mouth to scream, a reasonable reaction, but Evil was having none of it. Before Disco could get a sound out, Evil grabbed Disco's slimy wet tongue, extended it, and with a quick flick of the bowie knife, cut Disco's tongue off.

Disco was too shocked to react, and only flinched when Evil shoved the knife into his one remaining eye, mercifully killing the Playboy Bear.

Exhaling, Evil gripped the knife handle and jarred it out of Disco's eye socket, flicking small bits of blood off onto Disco's car. Never mind the fact he now had at least a pint of blood sprayed on his face…

Evil stood, twirled the knife in his hand, and turned around.

Giggles stood there staring at him in shock.

Evil stared back, momentarily surprised.

A stalemate between the two lasted for all of five seconds, before Evil glanced at Disco's tattered remains, back at Giggles, and grinned, revealing bloodstained teeth.

"Hello."

As if it were the magic word, Giggles snapped out of her stunned stupor and screamed.

* * *

_As the clock struck midnight in the small town of Manchester, the remaining patrons in the diner began to empty out, each slapping Senior constable Joe McAffery on the back, echoing with a 'good job' on their way out. Eventually, it was just McAffery, his assistant Constable Cameron Smith, and the diner owner, a guy by the imaginative name of Pony Joe._

"_A'ight, fellas." Pony Joe nodded at the two officers. "Show's over. It's closin' time, so y'all gotta get goin'."_

"_One more for the road, Pony Joe?" McAffery asked. Seeing as the celebration had been in McAffery's honor it was impossible to say no, so Pony Joe merely rolled his eyes and produced two cans of beer, handing one to each of the officers._

"_Now ah dunno if you officers follow the same drinkin' laws as us civilians, but y'all ought'a be careful regardless. Ah don' wanna wake up to find that y'all wrapped yerselves around a telephone pole in the wee hours o' the mornin'."_

"_Don't you worry, I'm the designated driver." Smith spoke up, only sipping mildly at his beer. "I'll be sure to get him home safe, then it's back down to the prescient with me."_

"_Yeah, yeah, sure, sure." Pony Joe nodded, waving the two away. "Now hurry up an' get, so ah can close up and go to bed."_

"_Goodnight to you too, Pony Joe." McAffery called over his shoulder as he and his partner exited the diner. Pony Joe grumbled something unintelligible in reply, before closing the door behind them._

_Smith lead the way to the one remaining car in the parking lot, that of his own personal, non-police cruiser, while McAffery followed closely. Luckily the streetlights were on, or they wouldn't be able to see a damned thing in the pitch blackness. Smith unlocked the car with the keys, climbing into the driver's seat while McAffery crawled into the front passenger's seat, and the two sat in a silence, before McAffery spoke._

"_Twenty years." He drawled. Smith could hear the buzz of the liquor in his partner's voice, not to mention smell it too. "Who'da thought I' last this long, eh?"_

"_Yep. Here's to another twenty years, boss." Smith replied, raising his can a tad before settling it down in the cup holder. As the engine roared into life, McAffery leaned back in his seat. And as Smith pulled away from the curb onto the streets, McAffery continued._

"_Twenty long years." He echoed. "Twenty years of watching the scum of Manchester evolve and develop. Twenty years of watching good society crumble around me. Twenty years of losing faith in all life on earth."_

"_Hey, hey now." Smith interrupted. "Don't let a few bad apples spoil the bunch. Such, some of us are terrible, no arguments there, but they're the minority."_

"_Are they, Cameron? Are they really? It seems as if every day more and more of them pop up."_

"_It's just because everyone focuses more on the scums in life, while the heroes are quietly ignored. I know, it's not the perfect world, but that's what it is."_

"_Is it worth trying to help, do you think?"_

"_Of course. With the help of people like us, the world can change, for the better. It'll probably take a very, very long time, but I think it could happen."_

_McAffery fell silent as Smith traversed the downtown roads, and Smith began to think his old companion had fallen asleep, until McAffery prodded Smith in the arm._

"_Cameron."_

"_Yes, sir?"_

"_I have to vomit." McAffery spat, with the delicacy and gracefulness of… well, a drunken cop._

"_You think so?"_

"_Too much beer. Pull over."_

_Smith obliged, pulling over onto the curb on a long stretch of buildings. McAffery climbed out, headed for a small alleyway between two buildings, bent over, and gagged._

_Constable Cameron Smith watched, concerned, but made no move to help his partner. Instead, he stayed inside the vehicle, keeping watch, and fiddled with the overhead mirror. Checking his reflection, he flattened down his crisp hair, and was about to turn away when a flash of… something, appeared and disappeared in the rearview mirror._

_Smith furrowed his eyebrows, confused. He could've sworn, in that one instant, that… there was someone in the back seat._

_Lightning flashed, illuminating the area for a split second._

_The split second was long enough for Smith to see the positively psychopathic nightmare face staring into his eyes in the reflection of the mirror._

_Before Smith could even get one sound out, the person in the back snapped a hand across his mouth, the other hand pressing a cold, sharp knife against his throat._

"_Remember me?" The person whispered in Smith's ear. "I remember you."_

_With that note, the person in the back seat dug the knife harder against Smith's throat, and slashed._

* * *

Giggle's blood-curling scream echoed above the din of the movie, catching the attention of most of those in attendance, before it was suddenly and chillingly cut off. Flaky turned around, looking in the direction of the car park, and trembled. She was already fearing the worst, although it was debatable what the worst was. A good part of her was already urging her to run, run as far away as she could. But she wouldn't get very far without her car, and since the scream came from the car park, well…

Cuddles was already on his feet, hurrying for the source of the sound.

"Cuddles, wait-"

"No, that was Giggles! I ain't waiting!" He snapped back, not slowing down. "Giggles! You okay?"

No answer.

The group watched in a hushed silence as Cuddles approached the car park, disappearing around Handy's tow truck…

And nothing.

Nothing happened.

"Cuddles? You okay?"

No answer.

"I swear, if that idiot just knocked himself out by tripping over a twig…" Handy muttered, getting to his feet and approaching the parking lot. Muttering some more under his breath, he disappeared behind his truck much like Cuddles did seconds ago.

Unlike Cuddles, however, he returned, backing into view before turning and running. "RUN!" He shouted. "GO, GET OUT OF HERE, NOW!"

Before anyone could ask why, the front of Handy's chest exploded in a fountain of gore. Handy stumbled to the ground, looking at the object wrenched in his chest with surprise, before realizing he now had the hook from his tow truck lodged in his chest. With a sudden squeak, the hook was wrenched backwards, taking Handy with it back to the tow truck, where a pair of dull yellow eyes waited.

It was the eyes that gave it away.

Flaky's spirits fell with the realization: Evil had come out to play.

Suddenly, everyone began screaming, running, separating as they too reached the same conclusion. Evil was effectively blocking their best exit, so they were resorting to other methods to escape and survive through the night.

Sadly, Evil had planned for this.

…

Pop held his son tightly against his body as he ran, shielding Cub and protecting him from harm as he followed Lumpy through the bushes that were west of the park. He could hear the screams of others behind him, but couldn't do anything about it, and continued to run. He hadn't meant to follow Lumpy, of course. Lumpy probably just had the same idea as he did.

Puffing and panting, Pop began to fall behind the blue moose. He clearly wasn't in the best of shape…

But with Lumpy few strides ahead of this, this gave Pop a warning.

Lumpy's foot stepped on a thin silver wire, and something flashed in the air.

Lumpy didn't notice it at all.

Pop, however, saw the flash of silver, and quickly crouched down, shielding Cub with his body.

Cub gaggled, and looked over his daddy's shoulder. The blue moose wasn't running anymore. Lumpy stood, almost frozen to the spot, before the upper half of his body slid from the lower half and fell to the ground.

Cub giggled.

Cub looked up at his daddy, smiling that baby-toothed smile of his.

Pop didn't return the smile.

Cub frowned, and lightly tapped the side of daddy's face.

The top half of Pop's head slowly slid off, just above the mouth level, and gravity overtook as the three quarters remaining of Pop fell forwards. Cub fell with it, hitting the ground with a dull thump, and began crying.

_Why wasn't daddy responding?_ Cub wondered. _Is daddy sleeping?_

Cub shifted, but he was pinned under his daddy's arm. He shivered in the cold. _Wake up, daddy. I want to go home._

Cub would die of exposure later in the night, mercifully after only four hours of being trapped under his daddy's body.

…

"You want to die? C'mon, hurry up!" Shifty urged his brother onward, wishing one of them had brought a torch or something as they ran east. The bushes here weren't as dense as they were west, where he caught a glimpse of Pop and that son of his running after Lumpy of all people, and as such were easier to navigate through.

Now if Lifty would just keep up, things would be fine and dandy.

"I knew I should've stayed home! It was a crappy movie, anyway!" Lifty exclaimed, just barely keeping up with his brother. "Shifty, don't you dare leave me here!"

"You keep up and I won't have to!" Shifty shot back.

"I'm serious, bro!"

"So am I! I don't wanna die!"

The ground beneath Shifty suddenly fell away, collapsing as Shifty put his weight on it. Shifty let out a small gasp of surprise, falling down the trench before hitting the ground several meters below.

Lifty stumbled, slowing, stopping just above the edge's pit. Taking care of his balance, Lifty slowly leaned over the edge and looked down. "Shifty?" He whispered. "Are you okay?"

"FUCK!" Shifty's shout answered him, the pain in his voice more noticeable than anything. "AH, MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Shifty, what happened?"

"What do you think happened? That army bastard planted a trap, dumbass! Ah, fuck, my legs…"

"Are you okay?"

"I just fell down a pit and impaled both my legs on a bunch of sharp spikes, only narrowly avoiding impaling the rest of myself on them, Lifty. DOES IT SOUND LIKE I'M FUCKING OKAY?"

"Okay, okay, uh… I'll find some rope, and get you out of there, okay?"

"Don't you dare, Lifty! I'll be fine, you just keep running, get as far away from that psycho as you can!"

"What, abandon you like you would me? Hell to the no!"

"… You're a good brother." Shifty sighed, feeling a sense of pride for his brother.

"I know. Wait here."

"Does it look like I'll be moving anytime soon?" Shifty muttered, his voice trembling as he studied his legs in the dark moonlight. They were bleeding heavily, with no less than eight spikes impaled through them, and they were far from a pretty sight. "Godamnit."

Lifty straightened himself, looking around for something he could use as a rope, or anything. "Okay, rope, rope…" His eyes settled on a long vine a few feet away, and he grinned. "Perfect." He took a step forward…

… slipped over in the mud…

… And fell backwards, into the spiked pit with his brother.

"Shit!" Lifty spat as he fell, twisting in mid-fall. Shifty only had time to look up in puzzlement, before Lifty's body came crashing down ontop of him. Shifty was knocked back, and saw rather than felt one of the spikes go though his back, emerging out his chest with a small splatter of blood.

Shifty winched, not from pain, but from how unpleasant it looked. He glanced beside himself, at Lifty's face-down body with one spike jammed through the eye socket and out the head, and shook his head.

"Godamnit, Lifty." He woozily muttered, before falling back as darkness enveloped him.

…

Flaky sat and sobbed.

Back when they had realized Evil was here, everyone had panicked, hastening to get away before they would be next. Before Flaky could get to her feet, someone had knocked her over in their hurry to get away, and another trampled her beneath their feet. Flaky felt one of her teeth break.

As Flaky had begun to get back to her feet, the screams of pain and suffering reached her. The others were dying, either by Evil's hand or by some pre-set traps, it seemed. Flaky watched, frozen, as Evil calmly grabbed Sniffled by his snout, treating it like a small piece of rope while Sniffles begged and pleaded for Evil to let him go, before Evil ripped Sniffle's snout right off his face. Sniffles shrieked, bleeding heavily, and collapsed, slowly choking on his own blood.

Flaky watched as Evil grabbed Mime by the antlers, ripped his stomach wide open with the knife, and pulled out a wad of intestines. With blood literally pouring out of Mime's body like a running tap, Evil wrapped the strand of intestine around Mime's neck, tightening until Mime stopped struggling. True to his nature, Mime made not one sound, even in his death throes.

Flaky watched as Evil coolly stabbed Petunia in the chest with that bowie knife of his, before ripping it out and repeating the process again and again and again, until Petunia's front resembled red play dough rather than anything comprehensible.

Flaky watched, silently sobbing wet tears, as Evil did all these things, and looked right in her eyes afterwards. She quietly cried as Evil finished off the last of her friends, and began to approach, twirling the knife in his hand. He stopped in front of her, still twirling the knife in his hand, and knelt down in front of her.

"Flippy talks about you, you know." Evil said, cupping Flaky's chin and lifting it, forcing her to look into his eyes. "He talks about you a lot. He says you taste like strawberries." Evil raised an eyebrow, pondering this, before he suddenly and unexpectedly pulled Flaky's head close to him and kissed her deeply. Flaky's eyes widened, and she struggled, resisting, until Evil broke the kiss a good few seconds later.

"Well, what do you know. You do taste like strawberries." He mused, licking his lips, before flipping the knife over and thrusting it into the back of Flaky's head. Flaky squeaked, a small sound of surprise, before her eyes rolled and she fell, landing in Evil's lap.

Evil paused, debating, before shaking his head and pushing Flaky's body away. "Sorry, but I like my woman alive." He said, and got to his feet. He looked around at all the carnage that he himself had caused, and smirked. This was better than some old movie, that's for sure.

Suddenly: Footsteps, in the distance, slowly coming closer, Evil instantly went on stealth mode, going silent, and hid in one of the bushes as the footsteps came closer.

DJ slowly stepped into view.

* * *

_Senior Constable Joe McAffery breathed heavily. He was pretty sure he got all that vomit out of his system, but one can never be too sure. Slowly, carefully, he straightened himself, turned around, and headed back to the car. Breathing carefully, taking note of his blood alcohol level, McAffery opened up the front passenger door and poked his head in._

"_I think I'm good now, Cameron. Hope so, anyway."_

_His partner, slumped over the steering wheel, made no response._

_Feeling a small sense of unease niggling in the back of his head, McAffery leaned in more and gently prodded his partner. "Wakey wakey, Officer Smith."_

_Cameron Smith's body slid off the wheel, thumping against the driver's door, and it was now that McAffery finally realized the scent of fresh blood on the driver's seat, spread across the steering wheel, and positively drenched through Smith's front._

"_Oh, Christ." McAffery whispered, as it dawned on him what had happened. "Oh, Christ." He indistinctively reached for a receiver to call HQ, before realizing they had been driving Smith's personal, non-police sedan. "Oh, Christ." He repeated, much like a broken record. He quickly exited out of the car, backing away, horrified, before tripping over the curb and stumbling onto his backside._

"_Oh, Christ." McAffery muttered again, before the broken record in his head snapped as a thought struck him. "Phone. Phone. Where's my damned phone?" Averting his eyes from the car, with his partner's prone corpse lying in it, McAffery ran a hand through his pockets, unable to find it._

"_Looking for something?"_

_McAffery jumped, his heart beating in his chest. He whirled around, confused and maybe a bit scared, before he found the source of the voice. It was dark, the moonlight being the only source of light nearby, and as thus the figure was only partly shown. He appeared to be a cat, a young man by the sound of his voice, who stood a few feet to McAffery's left, leaning against the wall of a nearby building. From what the policeman could tell, the feline was wearing a pair of jeans and a dark vest, but it wasn't the cat's clothing that caught his eye. It was his eyes. If the voice was familiar, than the eyes were twice as much._

"_Do… Do I know you?" McAffery asked, thinking back: Where had he seen those eyes before?_

"_You do." The cat replied, and McAffery noted with a growing apprehension that the cat's voice had taken a dangerous, icy tone. "It was a long time ago, longer than it should've been, but you do."_

"_I… I'm sorry, I don't rememb-"_

"_Oh, yes you do." The cat stepped forward. "You remember damn well."_

_McAffery took an unwary step back. "I don't-"_

_With sudden ferocity, the cat hurled something at the ground at McAffery's feet. McAffery's phone shattered on the pavement, splitting into millions of pieces, and McAffery stared at the remains of his phone, then back at the cat. "You look into my eyes, you sorry son of a bitch, you look into my eyes and you tell me that you don't remember taking away the only person I ever gave a damn about!" He snapped, and suddenly McAffery remembered why the eyes were so familiar._

_It was a long time ago, indeed. Nearly a decade ago. McAffery had been investigation the recent death of a college student, quickly finding a trail that led them to the household of Mr. Leslie Jazed and his sons, adopted Ezekiel and biological Desmond. A quick search revealed the gun that was used in the murder hidden in a sock drawer, and it all came down to one thing: Who pulled the trigger. The student had died from a single gunshot wound to the back of the head, shot from below. Ezekiel was several inches taller, and several spots of blood could be seen around his ear, implying that Ezekiel was in front of the student when the shot was fired. This left the unsavory option that it wasn't the older, rebellious Ezekiel who pulled the trigger… but young, quite Desmond, aged six at the time. Back then, McAffery had looked into Desmond's eyes, and what he saw unnerved and horrified him. He wanted to arrest the kid on the spot, there and then, but then Ezekiel stepped forward… and claimed that he was the one who pulled the trigger. They all knew it was a lie, but McAffery accepted it anyway. What jury would convict a six year old? The last time he had seen young Desmond was as he was driving away, Desmond's miserable face in the window, watching them go._

_McAffery remembered all this._

"_Jazed…"_

"_That's right." Desmond Julian Jazed nodded. "It's been nine harsh, lonely years, but I haven't forgotten. I've been waiting for this day, fantasizing about this day, for years, and it's time it finally came to life."_

_McAffery glanced in the car, at Smith's body, and put the pieces together. "You… Did you-"_

"_Yes." Desmond nodded, and something flashed in his hand: A shiny, bloodstained knife in his grip._

_McAffery shook his head. "You're crazy."_

_Desmond tilted his head, as if thinking, before a smirk flashed across his face. "No I'm not. I'm just a bit unwell."_

"_You're insane." McAffery took another step back. "You're a sociopath. You-"_

"_Shut up." Desmond stepped forward, his grip on the knife steady. "I don't want to hear it. You took away the only thing I cared about in my life for nine years, so you have no right to judge me when you helped in turning me into this 'sociopath' in the first place. This has been a long time coming. It's been nice knowing you, Officer McAffery."_

"_Now, wait just-"_

_But before McAffery could get another word out, Desmond stepped forward, the knife held ready, and plunged the knife into McAffery's stomach. The words died in the officer's mouth, and he fell to his knees. Desmond brought the knife out, and slashed at the side of the offer's face, slicing an eyeball in half. McAffery collapsed on his back, shivering, and could only stare in foreboding horror as Desmond crouched beside him and raised the knife above his chest._

"_Why…" McAffery spat out, along with a thin strand of blood. Desmond paused, thinking, before he calmly replied with four words that chilled McAffery to the bone._

"_Because I want to."_

_With that note, Desmond Julian Jazed thrust the knife down, into Senior Constable Joe McAffery's chest._

* * *

The air was crisp and warm, not too hot but at the same time not too cold. The final steps of the sun setting were playing out, releasing a quaint orange glow across the otherwise dark sky as the moon began its slow journey above. The forest was quiet, peaceful, calming as DJ made his way down the path from the old playground to the park. He'd found that playground a while ago, forgotten by the residents and abandoned by time. It was old, rust, run down… but still in pretty good shape. The swings still worked.

DJ liked the swings.

DJ's footsteps made little to no sound on the soft grass, and he ducked under a low hanging branch as he sauntered closer to the park. He rounded through a bend, and paused.

Nutty appeared to be laying in the center of the clearing, lying facedown in the dirt.

DJ raised an eyebrow, stepped over Nutty's prone body, and continued on his way.

Reaching the parking lot, DJ's other eyebrow raised to meet the other. At various points, Disco Bear's, Giggle's, Cuddle's, and Handy's bodies were strewn across the tarmac, in all honesty looking like they've picked a fight with a runaway truck and lost. DJ paused above Giggle's body, the eyes missing, and gave it a light kick.

Unsurprisingly, Giggles made no response.

DJ stepped over the bodies, leaving a footprint in blood, and reached the park clearing, where everyone should be enjoying themselves, laughing at the movie and socializing like DJ couldn't. Instead, no-one was laughing, no-one was moving, and the movie had stopped playing. Possibly due to the player being shoved through Russell's chest, but DJ didn't particularly care to check. It took all of one second for DJ to realize, with a strange acceptance, that everyone around him was dead.

DJ sat down on a spare chair, next to Flaky's body, and leaned forward in thought. The first time he'd decided to actively go out and make some friends, and the town gets slaughtered. What a coincidence. Everyone was dead. DJ sighed, rubbing his temple. This wasn't fair. Not very fair at all. Why is it that every time something good happens, almost instantly karma weighs in and screws it up? Everyone was beyond saving. His ride here was currently lying dead by his feet, and he didn't feel up to the task of going through Flaky's pockets for car keys.

DJ reached into the cup holder and grasped a can of Pepsi, taking a refreshing mouthful.

Looks like he got dressed up for nothing. No, not nothing... For fate to look his way and ruin things again.

DJ threw the can at some nearby bushes in a short burst of anger. Anger at life, anger at everyone for dying on him, anger at how much he hated everything right now.

The can disappeared into the bushes, and hit something solid.

"Ow!"

DJ's ears pricked up. He got to his feet, looking at the bush in surprise.

Bushes don't say 'ow'.

He stepped cautiously over to the bush, creeping closer, until he was right beside it. He bend over to pry the branches apart-

When a pair of dull yellow eyes flashed, and a sudden, blinding pain struck DJ's stomach.

DJ's breath halted, the rhythmic breathing truing into a small 'gulp' of surprise and pain, and he fell onto his hands and knees. He hissed, feeling a sticky wet patch of liquid begin to spread on his chest, and he put a hand to it. The hand came back, dripping red.

It was then that DJ realized what had happened.

"Damnit..." DJ whispered. Whoever had been hiding in the bushes had now exited, and was standing behind the crouching DJ, the knife dripping in his hands.

Evil rubbed his head with one hand where the thrown can had struck him, and kicked DJ in the ribs. DJ let out a gasp of pain, rolling onto his back, and clutching at his bleeding stomach. Evil knelt down beside the English cat, grinning a psychotic grin that would normally have someone shitting bricks.

DJ looked back into Evil's eyes with an expression not of fear, or hate, but of disappointment. "Hi, Evil." He managed to spit out. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"Flippy's been keeping me under control." Evil explained. It was such a refreshing change to have a civilized conversation that didn't consist of one screaming incessantly. "But he got careless. Just like you." Evil placed a hand against DJ's bleeding chest, and pushed down on it. DJ jolted, clearly resisting the urge to scream at the burning agony running through him, and Evil's smirk grew.

"What's wrong? Does this hurt?" Evil teased, before hitting the injured area again. "Does DJ need a kiss and a hug from his mommy?"

DJ didn't respond to this taunt. Evil's grin faded slightly, before he felt a sudden blow on the side of his head. Evil hissed, more surprised than hurt, and dropped the knife.

DJ saw Evil drop the knife after he struck him with a lucky kick, and rolled over onto his stomach, sending another wave of hurt though his body. DJ gingerly reached out a hand, and grasped the handle of Evil's bowie knife.

Evil's fist wrapped itself around DJ's, and DJ struck with an indistinctive flick of the wrist, tilting the knife and cutting the back of Evil's hand deeply. Evil snarled, ripping his hand away, and DJ slowly but surely lifted himself to his feet.

Evil lay on his back, cradling his hand, watching with surprise as DJ got up and turned to face him. DJ had gone noticeable pale, no doubt the cause of the large amount of blood dripping from his stomach with each passing second. With a steady hand, DJ raised the knife and pointed it at Evil.

Evil laughed. "You wouldn't. You don't have what it takes to kill another in cold blood." As soon as he said it, Evil truly saw how false that claim was. DJ's eyes betrayed not one hint of fear, not one hint of apprehension. His eyes sparked not that of a normal person… but those of a man who has nothing to lose. A man who's head didn't work the same way as everyone else's. A man who was truly prepared to kill… And who has.

Evil's grin faded as he realized this.

DJ took a step closer, silently, and – Evil had to admit – terrifyingly. DJ's breathing was labored, forced, the recognizable breaths of a person on his last legs.

DJ suddenly fell to his knees again, the knife dropping from his grip. DJ's breathing was more harrowed, desperate, and his eyes met Evil's with a look of understanding.

They were alike, yet different at the same time.

DJ shivered, and rolled onto his side, creepily keeping eye contact with Evil. His breathing became slower.

DJ put his head on the ground, and breathed out a final time.

Lying in the dirt, not betraying any of his emotions, bleeding out, DJ died a long, slow, painful death.

* * *

Yes, another chapter down, not more to go. I like this chapter. Might be cos of the writing, or the huge amount of deaths. What do you think? Go on, take a guess.

Oh, and can anyone find the MLP reference.

Reviews are appreciated.

~ DJ.


End file.
